The End of Childish Games
by TeamAwesomeLives
Summary: It's the last ever Avenger Games. At least, that's what Nick Fury has promised to the rest of his team, planning the first (and last) Quarter Quell. He's using the Games as cover to gather tributes, people with strengths that he can use in his impending revolution. And for the already-resurrected tributes and victors from previous Games, the revolution can't come soon enough.
1. Meet the Careers

**Notes: And here we are, with our Quarter Quell of the Avenger Games. If you haven't read "There Will Be No Kneeling," we'd recommend you pop over there real quick so you can follow all the storylines we're tying together. If you have, hello! We're here to introduce the first four districts' worth of tributes for the final Avenger Games. We think a few of the faces might surprise you ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: "Meet the Careers"**

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District One_

* * *

After the disastrous showing One had put up for last year's tributes — an insane boy who didn't make it far at all and a criminal who betrayed her own alliance — the Academy had looked much closer at this year's candidates, looking for something different.

And that was what they found with Zebediah Kilgrave.

Before last year, he had certainly caught the eyes of the trainers, but as a possible teacher for the Academy more than anything else. He had a way of getting anyone to do what he wanted them to do, talking them into decisions even against their better judgement. The instructors were still trying to figure out how he had orchestrated an entire theft of the kitchen's contents _and_ convinced three younger boys to take the blame for it.

The other students were unsettled by him and gave him a wide berth when they could — and yet he seemed oddly charismatic at other times, seemingly able to walk the line between hated and worshiped, depending on how susceptible the other children were to his suggestions.

But as the Academy looked to someone with a little less flash than last year's Wade Wilson and toward someone who could lead the Careers, put One back in the spotlight instead of letting Two and Four hog most of it as usual — the young man with a strategic mind and a terrifying manipulative ability was starting to look better and better. They hadn't had any victors since the Four, and even Johnny Storm was getting old, around thirty years old… it had been _far_ too long since One had been anything but an "also billed" in the Career alliance. A leader, even one like Kilgrave, would be their best shot at ending the cycle of obscurity.

The decision was made, however, after Kilgrave's final test before graduation. At eighteen, this was his last chance for the Games, and every Academy graduate his age would go through the same final trial, pitted against one of the trainers to see how well they would fare in a fight with higher stakes. The only rule was that the trainer could not kill or seriously injure the students in the fight, not that close to the Games and the Reaping — though any hesitation would mean an instant disqualification for the students, and there _were_ rumors that necks had been snapped for 'disqualification,' just to keep them on their toes. It had been ages since that had happened, and the trainees at the Academy were getting to the point that none of them were old enough to remember it — so they were due for a wakeup call.

And that was what Kilgrave provided — albeit not quite in the way that the Academy had expected.

Kilgrave's evaluation was unique in that he didn't hesitate — but he didn't spring right into battle, either. He had gone right for the weapons rack to simply run his hands over it, lingering on different knives and swords as he almost easily chatted with the trainer watching him in a ready position.

And yet somehow, by the time Kilgrave actually crossed the span and cut the man's throat — it was the easiest kill any in the Academy had seen, because the trainer's guard was down and he had even dropped his weapons. All because Kilgrave _asked_ him to.

Of course, there was some uproar from the higher-ups. Kilgrave wasn't actually supposed to _kill_ anyone. But those with the final say loved it, and so did their SHIELD sponsors. If he could do that in training — they were practically salivating at the idea of what he could do in the Games themselves.

And Kilgrave himself was pleased with the outcome, having gotten what he wanted — as usual. So on the day of the Reaping, he wore his best suit — in royal purples, already thinking of his win and his fame and riches — to the celebration.

Outside of the rigor of the Academy, One was best known for its finery and glittering jewels, and that was on full display for the Reaping. No one there was in danger, after all — the volunteers had been chosen well ahead of time, and the rest of the citizenry was content to just… celebrate the excuse for a big party.

The lights and decorations in the colors of Marvel were a sight to behold as they lined the square where all the children in One were gathered in their best clothes, their parents and the rest of One gathered as well in what was basically heaven for pickpockets.

Their escort, Wilson Fisk, stepped up to the mic surrounded by the Fantastic Four — who as usual, were in blue and looked like they'd just stepped out of a fashion shoot. One's stylists were sure to maintain that image as much as possible. As for Fisk, well, there wasn't much to be done for looks, but he was elegantly dressed and an eloquent speaker as usual, his rousing speech about the 'sacrifice' and 'honor' of the Games going even longer this year as he spoke about the excitement that came with a Quarter Quell.

Kilgrave couldn't wait for him to stop talking.

After all the pomp and circumstance, there was, of course, the anthem and the video, and some of the citizens could be seen mouthing the words along with the recording for as many times as they'd heard it. This close to the Capitol, with the Academy to keep their kids safe, they honestly believed the words of all that propaganda, too.

But then finally, mercifully, all of the i's had been dotted and the t's crossed, and it was time for the main event, the only part that actually mattered.

Kilgrave leaned forward the slightest bit, his hands in his pockets as he licked his lips in anticipation.

"We'll start with the boys this year," Fisk said, but before he could put one massive hand into the bowl, Kilgrave stepped forward, hand in the air.

"I volunteer!" he called out, and there was no murmur of surprise around him, just a slight flurry of motion as the rest of the eighteen-year-olds parted to allow him to climb up to the stage. This was all expected, nothing new.

Fisk shook Kilgrave's hand and asked his name, and while Fisk introduced One to their new male victor, Kilgrave studied him for a moment. His clothes were immaculate, his speech careful and measured. This was a man who cared about appearances. Kilgrave could use that.

When the applause died down, Kilgrave stood where he was expected to on the stage, though he already had an eye on the spot he planned to occupy in the center of the Four — soon to be the Five — though he would of course be wearing purple. A royal color befitting his station — and setting him apart from the others, the has-beens.

Fisk then headed for the bowl of the girls' names, and he seemed to pause before he reached in, expecting another quick volunteer. But no one stepped forward — not yet, anyway.

That wasn't surprising, though. Sometimes the Academy had advance notice of the names expected to be drawn, and if the names belonged to small, slight things, they would ask their chosen tribute to wait to volunteer. It was always good for the cameras and for sponsors if they volunteered for a small, crying wisp of a thing. After all, this was One. Nothing was unplanned here.

Kilgrave looked out over the crowd and wasn't surprised to see that when Fisk called out the name "Madeline Pryor," it belonged to a scrawny little redhead, a nobody with hardly any flash or substance who looked at most fourteen. Her expression had turned to one of pure terror as, for a long moment, there was silence. Whoever the Academy had chosen, they were dragging this out for the scrawny girl as the crowd slowly parted around her.

And then... "I volunteer!"

The breath of relief from the Pryor girl was audible even in such a large crowd, and Kilgrave looked with the rest of the gathered audience to see who had stepped forward, a deep frown on his face when he saw the girl who looked… _exactly_ like the first.

 _Sisters,_ he thought to himself and shrugged it off as the girl made her ascent to the stage, already considering how he could use that kind of bond to break her and make her work for him, though when she gave her name as "Jean Grey," he had to pause and reconsider.

 _Cousins, then_ , he surmised, falling back into his earlier confidence. Not as close of a bond, but still one that he could use, though as he extended his hand to the girl on the stage with him, the look she gave him was not one of terror or of heroic determination.

No, there was something different about this one. A fire somewhere he couldn't place. But when he did, he was sure he could get it to work for him.

* * *

Last year had been the start of terrible things for the little red-haired girl. She'd been singled out by the tall, curvy blonde that she'd come to refer to as the White Queen after the Reaping last year, when her name — out of all the possible names — had been called and the White Queen had volunteered for her.

But when Elektra had taken the spot instead, Jean Grey been picked on and pestered by this older girl for months. Months of mental abuse and pointing out that she'd have done better than the criminal that had taken her place in the Games. Months of twisted things whispered to her in a superior tone that sank into her bones, even if they were just words.

Until little Jean just couldn't take it any more. Then it was the White Queen's turn to take the abuse as the little redhead turned the tables on her and started giving back the twisted lies and mental torture until the White Queen began to crack her diamond-like facade. She thought she was unbreakable, but the redhead had finally found the imperfection and taken advantage.

Breaking Emma Frost down was much easier than she'd thought it would be from all the mud she'd thrown. The girl wanted desperately to be _better_ than everyone, wanted to be in charge, wanted to be liked, but on her terms. And it was only too easy for Jean to take that and twist it, to show the White Queen that she was anything but. She was unloved, unwanted, hated. Her twisted words meant nothing, and she would always be alone.

A few weeks before the Reaping ceremony, Jean had finally broken her — and the White Witch from District One threw herself off of a tall building.

Now, Jean had plans of her own, plans that she had been setting in motion since freeing herself from the White Witch. She been spared last year in the Reaping — first by Emma, and then by the prisoner that had bumbled her way on stage.

Nobody in One talked about it — about the way people looked at the children whose names were drawn for the Reaping only for the Academy choices to step in. There was no coming back from it for so many of the kids — they were the sad little victims, picked out by the Academy because they were worth nothing more than their youth and their terror.

But Jean didn't want or need the pity that had come from being 'rescued' by the kids from the Academy. She wanted to set it _right._ It was Jean that had been meant to go into the Games last year, and she was going to make sure that she got her chance.

She'd discovered from Emma who it was that had been chosen to volunteer, and she spent a whole week before the Games hunting this … Morgan Le Fay down. Whatever happened, this girl could _not_ be allowed to volunteer, but she also knew that she couldn't fail to show up the morning of the Reaping either.

Two days before the Reaping, she'd finally cornered Le Fay. She started with flattery to get to know her — and to find out what she'd need to do to stop her — and then in a sneaky little move, she managed to hypnotize the girl and not only put in a suggestion for her _not_ to volunteer but also to wrangle the name of her replacement should she fail to step forward.

As the crowd gathered that morning, she watched closely for the kids from the Academy to show. When the little knot of girls appeared with the so-called Black Lotus in the center of them, with all the girls like satellites consoling her for losing out to Morgan — Jean moved.

She worked her way close into the knot of girls, and as she moved through the crowd, she pulled her gloved hand carefully out of her pocket and grabbed a hold of the girl's arm, apologizing profusely for her clumsiness as the transdural poison took just a moment to leach into Lotus' skin.

By the time Jean had passed her by and gotten to the aisle, the girl was unable to speak — though if it was from the pain of her flesh bubbling away or from the effects of the poison, the redhead simply wasn't sure, though she considered for just a moment keeping the glove for when she shook Fisk's hand on the Reaping stage.

After that, it was a simple enough matter of going to the center square so that her finger could be pricked and she could stand with all the other girls her age — and wait.

She watched the excitement build as Fisk called out the male tribute first, and the boy confidently walked to the stage. Just like that, she peeled off the glove and got to an area that would make it easier on her to throw her hat into the ring.

When they called Maddie Pryor's name, she had to roll her eyes. Of course. Little goodie two shoes Maddie. Another pathetic little face that the Academy was trying to use to drum up sympathy and support, the way they had done with her last year. This would be interesting.

She stepped out into the aisle just before she called out to volunteer and unlike little snivelling Maddie, Jean walked up to the stage with her head held high.

She gingerly took Fisk's hand and confidently told him her name, though when she looked out to the audience, she quickly found Le Fay and glared at her, almost daring her to go against the hypnotic command she'd given her.

Fisk's voice boomed out over the roar of the crowd as he made to gently direct the two tributes toward the staging area to say goodbye to family and friends, but as soon as he touched Jean, she shrugged his hand off of her shoulder. But to the shock of their escort, both tributes simply walked past the rooms. Neither tribute had anyone to say goodbye to, but it was Jean that turned her attention to Fisk.

"Are we leaving?" she asked, one hand on her hip.

"We can board the train, but it won't leave for another ten minutes," Fisk told her with a small frown and a look of suspicion.

She turned on her heel and headed off in the direction of the platform without another word said his way.

"No tearful farewell with your… cousin, I take it?" Kilgrave asked as he matched her stride.

"I don't have a cousin," Jean said. "But feel free to cry over yourself on the way."

"I never do," Kilgrave replied.

"You will."

The purple-clad tribute frowned her way before he simply shook his head, turning his attention to an easier target in Sue Storm, who introduced herself as his mentor for the Games. She was blonde, kind, and genuinely seemed interested in helping. Easy enough to use to his advantage.

When her brother, Johnny, approached and tried to give Jean the same warm greeting, Jean gave him a tight smile, though she seemed about as approachable with him as she could possibly be as they started chatting quietly between themselves.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Two_

* * *

Even though Hunter was only her boyfriend for the cameras, Bobbi was glad that he made it a point to come to her house on Reaping Days to share a chat over some tea and just… catch up together. It was one of the few "normal" things she had left in her hectic schedule, and she appreciated that he knew she even needed it.

"You're looking better, love," he said as he made himself at home in her kitchen — he had always been the better cook of the two of them, for some reason. Maybe it was just that she considered food an afterthought when she had so many other things that she could be doing — but either way, he teased her endlessly about it, about how she was a scientific genius who couldn't master the simple chemical art of baking.

She smirked at him. "It's not really a fair comparison when I was _sick_ the last time you saw me."

"And now you're not — so you look better," he replied easily as he got the tea started.

She rolled her eyes at him, but the smirk stretched into a real smile at his antics as she sat down at the table, and he sat across from her while they waited on the kettle.

"Seriously, though — you doing alright, Bob?" he asked. "You've been out of sorts."

"I told you; I was sick," Bobbi said gently.

"Right." He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the chair directly across from him. "That's not what I meant, though."

"Then maybe you should say what you mean," she teased him lightly.

"Alright." He seemed to consider her for a moment. "You've been trailing Miss Ophelia Sarkissian for months, and that just doesn't seem like you. Something's got into you lately."

"Maybe I want to keep an eye on things."

"And maybe someone else would buy that load of tripe. Try again."

She couldn't help but smile at that as she leaned back, matching his body language, though not quite propping up her feet. "It's a long story, Hunter," she said. "I wasn't exactly expecting it, either." She paused, aware of the fact that even in her home, they wouldn't go unheard. "Just trust me; I know what I'm doing."

"I always trust you," he replied easily. "You know that."

She smiled a bit wider at him and then leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. "So," she said. "Are you glad you're not the one giving the speech this year?"

"You have no idea," he said thickly.

She laughed at that and got up to get the cups ready for them both. "Well. We'll just see how it goes, then."

* * *

Reaping Day was always a ceremonial thing in District Two. There was always a volunteer for both the boys and the girls, so it really should have been simplified to just having those two show up instead of gathering the crowd. Or at least, that's how Elizabeth Braddock saw it.

As far as well-to-do families went, hers was at the top of the heap. She'd been a model as a child and appeared in many ads that still were plastered across Marvel. Even though she didn't model as much anymore, the one lasting thing from her time as a Capitol darling was the unfortunate permanent dye job that she'd been given as a child when purple was the 'in' color. Her skin remained untouched, but her hair was an incredibly vibrant shade that glowed in the sun.

She and her brother, Brian, had gone through a lazy morning in preparation for the Reaping ceremony, drinking tea and watching the lead in all the way up until she kissed her mother's cheek and the two of them headed out with full intentions of returning in an hour or two like they always did.

They checked in, and parted company — boys to one side, girls to the other — and both quickly found their friends to chat in the morning sun while they waited for things to start up.

The music began as it always did — too loud, too brassy. And the entourage went through their usual pontificating while Betsy chatted with a few close friends at a whisper, barely even pretending to pay attention, though when they got down to business and their escort stepped forward to draw the name of the girl, she couldn't help but hold her breath along with everyone else.

So it was that much more shocking when Betsy heard her own name called out over the silent crowd. She blinked a couple of times and turned her head both ways to see who the Red Room was sending in this year … but no one called out. She took a few steps forward and looked on her tip toes .. surely someone from the Academy would step forward then … but still no one. When they called her name the second time, the Sentinels were already headed her way — and she was suddenly terrified at the prospect. This simply wasn't something that _happened_ in Two.

She was pulled from the crowd, but once she was in the aisle, she pulled herself free from the Sentinel that had yanked her out and made her way up to the stage, scanning the crowd the whole time. This was just … unacceptable.

The kind-sounding escort offered her a smile as she finally took the stage and offered her his hand, and somehow, she managed to look sincere as she took it and scanned the crowd.

She found Brian — stock still and standing with his mouth halfway open, clearly shocked as much as Betsy had been. When they had called her name, he was half holding his breath and just hoping, waiting for someone to step forward for his sister.

But when no one did, when the Sentinels pulled her out of the crowd and started to drag her… he moved on from shock to near panic. He had to do something. He couldn't just… he couldn't _stand by_ while his sister was sent off to the Games. But he couldn't volunteer for her either.

Except ... he could.

Jarvis, Two's escort, had just turned from shaking Betsy's hand and was reaching for the bowl by the time Brian made his decision, and he all but burst forward before he even got the words out. "I volunteer!" he called out, and there was a murmur of displeasure from further out in the crowd as it was clear he'd gotten in the way of some plans, but he _didn't care_.

Betsy's head whipped up to search him out in the crowd, and she started to silently shake her head 'no'. But he'd already made his decision, and he didn't wait for the Sentinels to escort him up, taking the stairs two at a time before he shook Jarvis' hand. "Brian Braddock," he told the older escort clearly, and he saw the understanding light up first in Jarvis' eyes and then around the rest of the crowd when Jarvis introduced him by name.

Betsy looked up at Brian and gave him a shake of her head as she took his hand. "You're an idiot," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

"Yeah, maybe," he whispered right back in a tone that said he was clearly not sorry about it in the least.

She let out a sigh and the two shared a nod before they raised their chins up and stood in solidarity together.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Three_

* * *

Giuletta Nefaria was comfortable in Three, even more so since Tony Stark's death last year.

Of course, it was socially unacceptable for her to admit that her family had profited enormously from the loss of the golden goose of Stark Industries, and she would never do so in public, but in private, she was actually looking forward to the Games this year. Maybe they'd pick another golden boy or girl — and she and her father could buy in to take advantage where they could.

Her father was grooming her to take over his empire when she turned eighteen, though at seventeen, she still had another two years of Reapings to attend. She wasn't worried: her name was only in there the bare minimum amount of times. If anything, she was looking forward to it.

There was an element to the Games that she had always enjoyed, that moment of pleasure knowing, outside the Games as she was, that she knew far more than the ones in the arena did. Last year had been especially satisfying, watching the manipulations and the psychological terror. _She_ would have taken it a step further, pushed the tributes more into violence instead of into despair, but she had limited resources, even in Three.

Not that she didn't keep in practice. Her father's business empire was rife with employees desperate to get ahead, to keep their jobs — so easy to toy with and manipulate. She'd mastered the art of making a new employee cry by the age of seven, and by age thirteen, she had moved on to experimentation. Questionable deaths from the Nefaria buildings were almost commonplace, attributed to working with experimental metals and technology.

She loved it. She loved the dawning comprehension she could see on their faces as they started to realize something was wrong. She loved to lean over their shoulders and tell them they were dying.

The Reapings were only different in that she wasn't the one orchestrating the deaths. But it was still the same — the dawning horror, the quick and desperate struggle not to fall apart _too_ quickly, too publicly.

Giuletta took her place with the other seventeen-year-old girls at the square, remembering with a fond smile how last year's had gone. Little Pepper Potts might not have done what she set out to do, but Giuletta had to admire her goals. Her drive. She had simply lacked the tools to make it happen.

She remembered the horror on Stark's face when he'd learned what his district partner had done as she stared absently at the stage, the escort, Happy Hogan, droning on about something or other - it didn't really matter. The Quarter Quell, or whatever they wanted to call it, was the same show no matter how they dressed it up.

Giuletta had taken to scanning the crowd, hoping she would be the one to catch that first expression, that first little wince that gave away the person whose name had been called, when Happy reached into the bowl and frowned a bit at the name. "Gee…. Giuletta? Am I pronouncing that right? Giuletta Nefaria?"

"Uh-oh," the little blonde girl behind her hissed over Giuletta's shoulder. "Someone's going to di-ie."

Nefaria didn't hesitate to simply jam her sharp heel into the girl's foot with a sweet little smile on her face like a mask that didn't drop as the cameras found her. No one was going to volunteer for her — she knew that. But… there were possibilities here. More hands-on than she was used to, but she _had_ been wanting to step up her games…

She strode forward with the slight mark of blood on her heel leaving little red drops on the cobblestone up to the stage and grasped Happy's hand in hers. She didn't need to find her father in the crowd to know he was already leaving to call his contacts, business partners in the Capitol. She would have sponsors, she would have backing, and she had no qualms about killing.

She'd be home in a matter of days.

Happy seemed to size her up for a moment after she'd shaken his hand, likely expecting a little more terror or emotion or something, but when he got nothing but a stony mask, he just moved on, calling out "Trevor Slattery" for the boys' names.

This ... was interesting. Giuletta knew the name from her father's business ventures, and she knew that the Slattery empire was nearly as large as Stark's ... though it might have surpassed Stark since Tony's death.

Two children of business empires; she was sure that couldn't be a coincidence, not so soon after Stark. _Maybe_ Stark had been chosen because of Pepper's actions, but this? This was no accident.

Giuletta almost smiled at the thought. Her father had always said that when people came to fear you, it meant that you were powerful. If the Capitol saw fit to try to break their power by pulling their names, imagine their disappointment when she came back even more powerful. A victor, with a run of the Capitol? She would be running Three by the end of the year.

Her lips curled up into a genuine smile as she considered it, which was excellent timing for the cameras as Happy asked them to shake hands, and when she looked up to meet Trevor's gaze, the so-called Mandarin, as he was known in the business world, had seemingly come to the same conclusions she had, and he gave her the slightest of nods.

The Sentinels escorted them to where they would be expected to say goodbye, though of course, Giuletta's father had more important things to do — people to call, sponsors to buy — so it was hardly any time at all before she found herself on the train with her new district partner.

He had already started chatting with Rhodes, and while Giuletta knew him as cunning, crafty, and even rather bloodthirsty, the persona he was putting out for the young victor was almost… charmingly stupid.

Rhodes looked honestly concerned about the state of his tribute, who had gone directly for the liquor cabinet in the train with a bit of a hitch to his step.

"Woah, hey, wait a minute," Rhodes said as he snatched the bottle back from Trevor.

Trevor looked genuinely put out, almost pouting as he looked toward his stolen booze. "Hey, it's a party, innit?"

"You don't want to get started this early," Rhodes told him. "And you're, what, sixteen?"

"Well, I can't count on waiting until I'm twenty one, can I now?" Trevor asked with wide eyes and an almost condescending tone. "Lighten up!"

Rhodes just shook his head. "I can't believe it," he muttered to himself as Trevor managed to snatch the bottle back and popped it open.

Trevor dropped into the seat across from Rhodes and drained half the bottle before he started to _sing_ loudly, at which point Giuletta had to leave. She was sure if she stayed, she would spoil the charm Trevor was putting on, and if they were going to be district partners, she would need that. Let him attract sponsors with honey, as was apparently his plan for the more public side of the Games; she would do the rest of the work and kill him when he stopped being useful.

She tipped her head at Stane as she listened to Trevor introducing himself as "Tre-vah" repeatedly and babbling — something about riches and a boat, she wasn't entirely sure — before she slid into the seat across from her new mentor. "Make me a winner," she told him outright, and he tore his gaze from the open door and the increasingly ridiculous Trevor show to grin her way and lean forward the slightest bit.

"What are you willing to do?" he asked.

She smirked in answer. This was going to go well.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _Noh-Varr and Jubilee's Apartment Party_

* * *

Although the Reapings all took place at the same time across the districts, more or less within hours of each other, they were staggered for broadcasting purposes. That meant the entire day was dedicated to the Reapings, and so far, the stylists watching weren't quite sure what to make of it.

They just weren't sure about this year's Career pack. District Two's brother-sister duo looked like they weren't actually trained for this, and One's pair weren't exactly built like fighters. Sure, they had the confident walk down pat, but that just meant a great parade showing, really.

With Three's strange pair of steely-eyed tributes gone, it was time to round out the Career pack, and honestly, they were hoping for more of the same that they'd seen in One and Two. The gathered stylists all had tributes from outer districts, after all, so a Career pack that didn't look like they could kill you with their pinkie fingers was _great._

"Am I the only one that doesn't _get_ half of what they say in Four?" Jubilee asked as she dropped down into the seat between Noh and Doreen with a large bowl of popcorn.

"I bet Noh gets it," GoGo teased. "All high speech and poetry."

"And vanity and a strange code of honor in war," Noh added, shaking his head. "I don't understand anything but the words themselves."

"Oh yeah, because you're not vain _at all_ ," GoGo said with a widening smirk.

"This is _my_ house, GoGo," Noh shot back, pointing a finger her way, and she smirked wider at him and leaned over him to grab a handful of popcorn.

The gathering on the screen for District Four was on the beach, as usual, the waves in the background a bit higher than usual as there were clouds gathering in the distance, so it was hard for the mics to pick up what Bill Cobb was saying. It must have been even louder in the district itself, and several of the kids looked miserable and ready to get inside away from the summer storm before it hit them.

When Cobb got to the bowl with the names, he had to repeat himself three times before he could be heard over the waves and winds — "Amora."

"Another one with the single names," GoGo muttered. "They let _Four_ get away with it."

"That's because I think they're scared of Four," Honey replied with a little smile before their attention was drawn to the blonde on the screen, who looked absolutely _furious_. She was dressed in all green and looked like the storm sounded as she strode up to the stage.

"That's because Four's last names are boring," Jubilee pointed out. "They have them; they just don't _hold_ them to them."

"Unless it's someone big like the Odinsons last year," MJ said.

"They must have to know someone important for anyone to care," Honey said thoughtfully.

"Must be," GoGo said, though she was distracted from saying anything else as a _very_ large and muscular, dark-haired boy rushed forward to volunteer, hand held high as he couldn't be heard over the waves.

"Oh, here we go," Jubilee said quietly. "She's got an entourage."

"Of course she does. Why break the pattern? Last year worked _so_ well," MJ said, rolling her eyes.

"Hopefully these two aren't kissing cousins like last time," Fred said in a drawl.

"See the way he's looking at her, though?" MJ replied, pointing her pencil at the screen. She already had her sketchbook out, because Five was next, and she was ready to go.

"Yeah, just hoping they're not cousins."

"Hard to tell without the last names," Jubilee pointed out as the boy simply gave his name as "Skurge."

"Fitting," GoGo muttered.

"Is that even really his name, or is he trying to get ahead on the Games monikers?" Wasabi asked with a frown.

"It might be what they need to do to clean him up," Jubilee said under her breath.

GoGo snickered at that, though watching the two Four tributes wave at the camera had the stylists a little more nervous. _These_ Careers actually looked like they could do some damage, so they'd just have to wait and see what they got now that they were moving out of the Career districts.

Already, Noh was passing some chocolate MJ's way. In between Reaping broadcasts, the Capitol always played a recap of not only the tributes from the previous year for each district but also the victor or victors in the districts. This — this was the beginning of the reason they were all watching together, because that recap was always difficult to watch, not only watching the ones that lost but the ones that won and had to live with it.

"You ready?" Wasabi asked MJ, who simply nodded and put her pencil behind her ear.

"Let's see what we've got."


	2. Heart of the Nation

**Notes: And now… the middle districts.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: "Heart of the Nation"**

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Five_

* * *

"Well, it was nice while it lasted," Peter Quill muttered to himself.

He wasn't sure, exactly, where he would be this time next year, or if he'd even get sent back to Five for the Reaping. He didn't even know how much of his duties as a victor he'd still be doing once he was…

Well.

He didn't _like_ to say the word "married" at this point, or any variation of it, even though he knew that's the word people were muttering all around him. In the Capitol, it had been a whole bunch of airheads who either didn't understand that he wanted no part in this or who did understand and just didn't care — or worse, thought it was even better that he was being forced into this whole mess of a marriage.

Yeah, there were some seriously crazy, messed-up types in the Capitol.

It was both better and worse in the district. The nice part was that almost nobody out there knew that Gamora was more or less making a political statement with him, not only showing the victors that the royals controlled everything but also showing the country at large that _she_ was the crown princess and heir to her father's country. There was a lot of talk about image, even more about _heirs_ , but that… Peter more or less blacked out of the conversations whenever _that_ came up.

But in District Five, it was a lot simpler: everyone thought he really was marrying Gamora because he _liked_ her. Sure, there were a few people who actually knew him who knew better, who knew that he was paler than death every time the topic came up, but… that was a small handful out of an entire district of people who thought he was bought and paid for by the Capitol.

So it was a bit of a trade-off. On the one hand, it was nice to know that nobody was on the sadistic train to celebrate his suffering, but on the other, it was killing him to go home and see the looks of betrayal.

He _used_ to be well-liked. Even before the Games. He just had that kind of face, and if he was being honest, he'd always thought that he was charming too. Even after the Games, he'd been popular, because he was the first victor from Five, and he hadn't been a crazy psychopath about winning, either.

Now? People glared at him. Called him a traitor. Or just flat-out ignored him.

And yet it was oh-so-much better than being in the Capitol. At least here, he wasn't constantly being told what to wear, how to walk, where to be, what to say. At least here, he could get a little _alone_ time, considering his foster dad, Yondu, wasn't exactly the type to smother him. He could get a little space, some time to breathe.

Charles had suggested that he take the month the victors had at home before the Reaping to try to prepare himself, too, but Peter had _no_ idea how he was supposed to do that.

No, seriously, was there a handbook of instructions for people who were about to be forced into a marriage that had been arranged specifically to make him miserable? If there was... he actually wasn't sure if he wanted to read it.

But now… now it was Reaping Day, which meant it was time to head back to the Capitol, and so he hadn't exactly gotten any sleep last night.

Or the night before.

If he was honest, he was having trouble sleeping just in general.

He examined his reflection in the mirror and knew that Michael was going to have fits when he got there. He had serious bags under his eyes, and he definitely _looked_ like he hadn't gotten any sleep. He shrugged, ran a hand through his hair, and figured he should at least _try_ to get something in him.

He'd intended to go for the coffee, but he ended up hitting the scotch.

When Michael finally did show up, he immediately proved him right in his earlier assessment by jumping straight to getting onto him for the state of his eyes, his hair—

"And your breath!" He swatted at the air in front of his nose. "You have to go on the _stage_. The mayor and everyone—"

"Nobody here is going to _care_ if I'm drunk," Peter said tiredly. "It's not like it's going to sink my reputation any lower around here."

Michel narrowed his eyes before he seemed to decide that it wasn't worth it to get into that argument — yet. "Well, at least get dressed," he said, shoving a red leather jacket at him.

"No black?" he asked, surprised. That had been pretty much all he was wearing lately. It was more or less what Gamora said she wanted, and with how often he was around her in the past few months…

"No." Michael shrugged. "MJ says, and I quote, 'I've been designing _way_ too much black for you, and it's not your color.'"

Peter started to smile just the slightest bit. "She's a good friend."

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, no kidding." He waved a hand toward the door to tell Peter to get dressed. "And try to sleep on the train, would you? I thought you were supposed to be taking something to help you sleep."

"Are you snooping in my _medical_ file now?"

"I have access to everything about you. I have to. So does MJ, in case she ever decides you need fur or a skin dye job or something."

Peter froze, and Michael met his gaze.

"Not… green," Michael said falteringly, and Peter tried to give the guy a reassuring smile. He knew he hadn't meant anything by it, it was just…

It was hard to know how to navigate this whole thing, really.

"Yeah, that's… not my color either," he said with an attempt at a winning smile, though that only got Michael shaking his head and muttering under his breath about the "sham of a wedding."

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The sun was too bright as Jessica Jones tried to avoid being touched in the middle of the crowd that had gathered. The mayor was already halfway through his stupid speech, and it was all she could do to keep from shouting for him to 'get on with it', though that's exactly what she wanted to do.

One of the girls behind her jostled her forward with a fake apology, and Jessica turned around for a second to find the saccharine smile and the little curtsy just … irritating. She turned back around, rolling her eyes, and when the girl bumped her again, she threw an elbow back into her stomach before she narrowed her eyes and put on her own fake smile. "Oops."

She'd gotten nothing but dirty looks and harassment since Carol had volunteered for her last year, and after all the rudeness — and the nasty commentary about how Carol should have lived — Jessica had finally had enough. She was going to do exactly like Carol had done and volunteer — unless of course the name pulled belonged to the idiot behind her that couldn't stand upright without pushing Jessica into the girls ahead of them.

But when the name that came out of the jar belonged to the pretty, well-mannered girl in the third row — Margaret someone or another — she just blurted it out. "I volunteer!" she called with a scowl on her face.

The girl turned with a shocked look on her face as Jessica pushed her way to the aisle. "You wanna move your ugly butts out of my way? Tribute coming through." When she got to the cleared aisle, she straightened her shirt and put on a fake smile for half a second before she started to stride up to the stage.

Their escort looked shocked as he offered her his hand and asked her name, but instead of letting him announce it, she took the microphone from him. "Jessica Jones — I was drawn last year. So I'm setting things right." She put on another quick, fake smile and tipped her head to the side for a second before she handed the mic back to Barnett and stepped back with her hands clasped behind her back as she waited for the boy's name to be called.

* * *

Bucky was more concerned about Mrs. Rogers than anything else that morning, stopping by her place to make sure she was alright. It had been a year since Steve had volunteered for him, and he felt responsible.

He'd spent a year trying to take care of Steve's mom, trying to do what he could. He worked overtime hours, and he helped out around the house. Peggy helped too, soldiering on like she always did.

The two of them were alright, though Bucky just felt tired watching them talk. Mrs. Rogers was much more open with her emotions than Peggy was, and it was clear she had been crying that morning, so he just let Peggy do her thing. She was much better at it than he was.

When she met up with him again to head down to the Reaping itself, he noticed the handkerchief in her pocket that she had clearly just used. "You doing alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Peggy replied curtly.

That was always her answer, but he felt like he had to ask for Steve's sake.

He was trying to do things for Steve like that, though he knew he was horrible at it. He wasn't Steve. He didn't operate like Steve did. He just didn't have that kind of… he wasn't sure if it was stupidity or what, but he sure didn't have it.

"I put aside a little money so we can get her dinners for the next few weeks," Bucky told her. He was good at _that_ kind of thing — quietly getting things done and having something physical to show for it.

"I'll make sure it comes together," Peggy assured him, and Bucky nodded.

They split when they got to the main area where the boys and girls were separated, and he was planning on completely tuning the whole thing out. His name had already been pulled; he just had to listen through the girls' names and make sure his sister or Peggy stayed safe, and then he was thinking about disappearing for a while. He'd done what he could for the others, and he was no good for the crying part. He'd just… be better if he was gone.

But when the name they called out was Margaret Carter, his every muscle tensed, and he looked across the way to see the same shock in her face that he knew was on his own.

That just wasn't fair.

He didn't have anything he could offer for this, either. Peggy was supposed to take care of Steve's mom. She was supposed to do that part and he'd just take care of everything else — he couldn't do it without her, and he knew it. So he was halfway gearing up to volunteer so he could at least do that much and get her back home, protect her like Steve had done for him, when the little dark-haired girl volunteered in Peggy's place.

Bucky gaped for a moment as the girl got up to the stage and declared her name for everyone to hear — Jessica Jones.

He recognized the name. She'd been the other one to get Reaped last year, and Steve's partner had volunteered for her too. Another survivor stepping up to do their bit.

He didn't wait after that, just started to move, and he was halfway out of the crowd — and the Sentinels were halfway to him — when he realized he was supposed to announce his intentions first. "Yeah, I volunteer too," he bit out, ignoring Peggy's expression entirely and _definitely_ not looking at his sister.

This whole thing was stupid, but if another kid had to die, might as well be him. Heck, if he won, he could keep Steve's mom and Peggy and everyone in the clear anyhow, just take care of them with the Capitol's money that should've gone to Steve.

It was obvious Michael recognized Bucky — how could he not, considering how much they'd played Steve's stupid volunteer move over and over again, not to mention that stupid tape they showed Steve during his Games. The whole thing was real, of course, right up until the part where they convinced Steve that Bucky hadn't made it out — the cameras mysteriously hadn't shown the window he got through before the whole place blew. Just to screw with Steve.

He wondered how many people in the Capitol knew it was all fake. Maybe he could give some heart attacks to a few ditzy Capitolites at being back from the dead. Could be fun.

When he got to the stage, he shook Jessica's hand, tipping his head the slightest bit her way. "You and me again, huh?" he muttered low, and she nodded in response, her jaw set.

"A year too late, apparently," Jessica replied low.

They separated and headed to the designated areas to wait for family, and Bucky wasn't surprised at all when Rebecca more or less melted all over him and called him a moron a thousand times over.

"You just had to make it through two more years, you _idiot_!" she told him with tears streaming down her face, and her sentiment was echoed — much louder — when Peggy clearly couldn't wait for the rest of the Barnes clan to clear out before she came storming in and punched him square in the jaw.

"C'mon, Peggy, what was that—"

She punched him again and then got right up in his face. "This. Is. Not. What Steve died for," she told him in a low hiss, her eyes narrowed.

She was inches away from him, so he decided it was probably safer if he _didn't_ point out that Steve didn't _have_ to die if he'd done this in the first place. Instead, he met her gaze for a moment and said, "So that money's under my pillow back home. If I win, I'll have more when I get back that you can have too."

"That's entirely not the point," Peggy said, straightening up her shirt front. "You … _stupid_ , noble idiot."

"Careful there, sounds like you're thinking about Steve, not me," Bucky said.

"I'm thinking about hitting you again," she said. "Seeing as the two of you share the same brain. _Still_."

Bucky smirked the slightest bit and looked toward Rebecca. "Becca, I think she just said I'm half brain dead," he said in an attempt to get her to smile.

"Well, she's _right_ ," Rebecca replied with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Seriously? Both of you?" He looked between the two brunettes, but neither of them seemed willing to budge and were both openly glaring at him. He shook his head. "Fine. Look — I'll try not to die, alright?"

Peggy looked like she might hit him again for that one, so it was probably good timing when _that_ was when the Sentinels showed up to tell them that their ten minutes were up. So instead, he got a good hug from Rebecca and a look from Peggy that was pure death threat before he found himself getting on the train to head to the Capitol.

Jessica was already there, and so was their mentor, though the smile Peter Quill was trying to give both of them just didn't have any power to it. The guy looked downright green, so Bucky ignored him in favor of sitting down next to his new district partner.

"So we're both a little late for this ride," Jessica said to Bucky.

"Looks like," he agreed with a little nod before he held out his hand. "Bucky, by the way."

"Jessica," she replied as she shook his hand. "I hope we're not starting a trend, because I'm going to be pissed off if that girl does this next year."

"You and me both," Bucky said with the slightest of smirks. "I knew — I _know_ her, and she _would,_ too."

"Then I guess you better win and stop her from being stupid," Jessica replied straight-faced and in a flat tone.

"We'll see," he replied, sitting back in his chair.

"Well, you two will have plenty of sponsors this year, if it helps," Quill said as he finally seemed to find the wherewithal to join them, half holding his breath.

"Yeah, I heard," Jessica said as she looked him up and down. "Congratulations on your impending nuptials of doom."

He looked a bit pale as he mumbled out a 'thanks' before he straightened out the hem of his shirt and cleared his throat.

"Will that make you an _actual_ lord?" Jessica asked with a frown. "Or will you be a duke?"

"I don't really know, but I'll take the lord title, thanks," he said with the beginnings of a little smirk her way. "Might as well."

"No offense, but I hope your bride chokes."

"None taken, whatsoeverdear," Quill assured her honestly.

She looked between Peter and Bucky for a moment before she scrunched up her face again. "I'm sorry, but how are you _not_ drunk right now?"

"I was," Quill admitted. "But, ah, someone hid it from me."

"Huh," she said, looking around the car. "I can fix that."

Quill made a sweeping gesture. "Please do. It would make it easier on everyone."

She tipped her head and popped up to walk around the car and into the next one. Before the door closed all the way, the two of them could very clearly hear her tell someone _loudly,_ "This isn't yours!" just before she breezed back into the car with a bottle in her hand. "You're welcome — but you're also sharing."

"I have no problems with those terms," Quill said as he cracked open the bottle and took a long drink before he passed it back to her. "You drinking with us, Barnes?"

"C'mon, district partner," Jessica said. "You only live once, right?"

Bucky looked between the two of them and shrugged up one shoulder before he reached for the bottle. "Might as well."

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Six_

* * *

He woke up angry, though this didn't surprise him in the least, of course. Brock woke up angry most days, and went to bed angry too. Ever since last year's Games, his fury had grown until vitriolic hatred dripped from his expression at all moments of the day. He thought of it as a skill more than anything else.

He pushed himself out of the bed he'd occupied that night. The one in question was not his usual bed. Last night, he'd slept in the abandoned house of Susan Scarbo. Sinthea Schmidt's grandmother had died several months ago, leaving her small, dilapidated home open for anyone to use. The district had no need for it, and Brock liked it. It felt more like home than his parents' house, really.

When he sat up in bed, he found himself staring at a big, fat rat that lay asleep in the corner. Brock smirked. He drew the dagger out from under his pillow and pelted it straight at the unsuspecting rodent. It released a pained shriek as it died in agony.

"If I didn't have such high tastes, I might call that breakfast," he muttered to himself. Brock stood and dressed himself quickly. As he left the room in Sinthea's old house, he ran his hand along the wooden door frame in something akin to nostalgia.

He closed the front door with a bang. A dog let out a howl and a bark in surprise not far down the lane. Brock sneered at it, and it shrunk back in fear. He picked up a stone and threw it at the puppy viciously.

He went to the nicer parts of the district, intent on visiting the cupcake shop on the main square. He walked silently, ignoring the bustling activity for Reaping Day all around him. The flamboyant display of Marvel's colors didn't interest him. The Capitol didn't interest him. His only thought was revenge, vengeance for the fallen.

As he entered the shop, the woman behind the counter nodded to him in trepidation. Brock had a rap sheet as long as the woman's record book. His criminal activities had only really started a year ago, but he gave the Serpent Squad a run for their money, and he was a solo kind of guy.

Brock stopped in front of the display case and pointed at one with a skull and crossbones. "That one."

"Aren't you a little old for pirates?" She chuckled at him despite her better judgement.

Brock glared and twirled his dagger. "Do you want 30 days worth of rations, or should I take the little pastry myself?"

"No, no." She handed him the cupcake. "Here!"

"Good decision."

She nodded, mouth drawn in a thin line as she watched him leave her store. Brock sat down outside at one of the little metal tables. He looked at the cupcake. It reminded him of better days and better company. But those days and that company was gone. He took his dagger and cut the cupcake into bites. Eating half, he left the other piece of the pirate cupcake on the table for anyone who wanted it. He only needed half. Now, he had work to do.

Brock Rumlow didn't even register the pain as the Games staff pricked his finger and took blood. He just walked past them when it was done, ignoring the brilliant and bright decorations and festivities. He made his way to where the other eighteen year old boys stood. But he didn't look at any of them; instead, he watched the sole mentor of District Six, Johann Schmidt. Brock glared as Schmidt drank a small glass of wine and chatted lightly with a few Sentinels.

After he won the Games, he'd kill the Red Skull first.

He spent the entire video glaring at the victor. When it finished up, and Darcy Lewis stepped up to the microphone, Brock finally smiled. The Red Skull had found him in the crowd.

"Alright, let's do the boys first this year, shall we?" Darcy moved to take a piece of paper from the bowl.

But Brock had other ideas. "I volunteer!"

He didn't make eye contact with Darcy, or the boys who parted quickly around him, murmuring. He maintained his gaze with Johann Schmidt, who, for his part, never looked away. As he reached the stage, he shook the Red Skull's hand, rage lacing his expression like arsenic.

* * *

Kamala Khan had worked hard to be accepted at the school in Six so that she could make the most out of what Six had to offer.

There had never really been any other option for her, because her parents were determined that their little girl would never be mediocre or left by the wayside. So she and her brother both worked hard, though Aamir had graduated by then and still didn't have a job to go with all that hard work, so she could hear the usual argument down the hall as she got dressed for Reaping Day in a new long-sleeved dress and a beautiful scarf.

"We're just asking you to apply yourself," she could hear Ami saying, and she shook her head quietly. Ami wasn't going to get anywhere there, and she could already hear her brother protesting his usual 'there isn't anything available.'

This happened every time she came home from the school, so she was pretty well used to it.

Kamala readjusted the scarf so that it sat just right around her shoulders before she came downstairs. It was only her second Reaping, but she'd shot up almost a foot since last year, so she got to have the new dress anyway — though her dad pointed out that this was probably about as tall as she was going to get, now that she'd passed her mother.

Aamir made it a point, as he'd done last year, to walk her down to the gathering. He took his duties as her big brother seriously, she knew, and he glared at any of the boys who looked at her at all.

"You don't have to do that," she complained as they got to the line where they'd have to separate so she could get her finger pricked and he could go stand with the other adults.

"Yes, I do," he countered, still standing with her all the way up until she got her finger pricked and he was not allowed to go any further. "I'll wait for you right here!" he called out her way as he headed back into the crowd, and she waved at him with a wide smile. He was a good brother, even if he was annoying.

She made her way over to stand with the other girls her age. Zoe Zimmer, the blonde from her school that was always _commenting_ on the way Kamala dressed, the way she ate, the way she moved — everything — had somehow ended up behind her, and Kamala was doing her best to ignore her.

"That's a pretty scarf, Kamala," Zoe said in a tone that suggested she didn't think it was pretty, though it was hard to argue with her when she was saying nice things.

Kamala's best friend, Nakia, just shouldered past Zoe to stand by her in the line. "Ignore her," she muttered.

"Yeah, I got that," Kamala whispered back, though when Zoe kept trying to go on about Nakia's outfit, they had never been so pleased to hear Darcy launch into one of her rambling speeches so that Zoe was forced to shut up.

"This year is so exciting, because it marks twenty-five years of the Games!" Darcy said, though Kamala was a bit distracted from the rest of the enthusiastic Quarter Quell spiel as her other friend, Bruno, was making _I am incredibly bored_ faces from across the way, and it was hard not to laugh at him.

"Alright, let's do the boys first this year, shall we?" Darcy declared at last, strolling over to the bowl to pluck out the name, though before she could call it out, a boy with dark hair rushed forward, shouting out that _he_ was going to volunteer.

"O-kay then," Darcy said, putting the name back in the bowl as the boy joined her on the stage. He was probably a few years older than Kamala, but he looked like trouble, definitely like one of the boys Aamir was always trying to watch out for.

After Darcy quickly announced their volunteer as 'Brock Rumlow' to the crowd, the fuss and murmuring about another volunteer from Six two years in a row died down. Darcy finally made her way to the bowl with the girl's names.

"Kamala Khan?" Darcy called out, and Kamala froze.

The kids were starting to part around her, and Zoe prodded her forward with a hand in her back and a muttered, "That's you, stupid," that got the worst glare Kamala thought she'd ever seen Nakia give _anyone._

But she just… couldn't get her legs to work. She just couldn't. She could _see_ the Sentinels coming her way now that she had been more or less identified, but she just couldn't get her feet to move on their own, especially because she could hear Ami already crying, and she just _couldn't_.

She felt her feet lift off the ground and realized, oh, okay, she was getting to the stage this way, apparently, but she still couldn't quite make herself believe it until the Sentinels deposited her on the stage next to Darcy, and the brunette escort grabbed her hand to shake it, while Brock Rumlow looked like he was going to eat her alive.

"Are — are you sure?" she asked, somewhat delayed, after Darcy had announced them both to the crowd, and Darcy glanced at Schmidt and Brock with a hard glare before she pulled her arm around Kamala's shoulders.

"I'm just gonna show you where to go, and I'll pick you up when you're done with your family, mkay?" Darcy said, and Kamala didn't really think she had a choice in the matter as Darcy was physically steering her to the Justice Building.

It took a few moments for Kamala's family to get there, and Kamala tried very, _very_ hard to pull herself together before they got there. She knew Ami was already a mess, but she wasn't expecting Aamir, who just wrapped her up in a hug and started crying, and the next thing she knew, she was the one comforting him. Which was kind of weird, because he was, what, five years older (five years and three months, but who was counting?)

"Hey, hey, it's no problem, right?" Kamala said. "I'll be the youngest victor ever. Right?"

"You just keep out of the way of that boy they've got you with," her father warned, completely seriously. "And your mentor while you're at it," he added as he kissed the top of her head, and stayed there, just holding her closely with his eyes shut tight for as long as he could manage.

"Don't worry; I can take care of myself," Kamala promised him, doing her best not to show too much emotion when her parents were already so clearly beside themselves.

There was not nearly enough time before the Sentinels returned to tell them that it was time to break it up, and Kamala was worried her parents were going to get in trouble when Ami very nearly refused to let her go — but finally, somehow, they managed to say goodbye without a _total_ trainwreck, and as promised, Darcy was waiting for her to show her how to get to the train.

"Okay, so, listen," Darcy said, still with her arm around Kamala's shoulders. "I'm going to show you to your room, and you can watch the rest of the Reapings with me, okay?"

"Shouldn't I—"

" _Nope_." Darcy just put one hand on either of Kamala's shoulders and started to push. "Nope. You don't have to do anything except what I am telling you to do right now, my young friend. Just put one foot in front of the other, and I'll pop the popcorn."

Kamala glanced over her shoulder at Darcy for a moment, but then she saw Schmidt and Brock already talking heatedly, she decided, okay, yeah, she'd listen to Darcy.

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

"I _knew_ you were the smart one between the two of you," Darcy said with a smile that didn't look or feel forced in the least.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Seven_

* * *

Even though most of the kids in the orphanage weren't actually old enough to be reaped, they still had to look their best for the Reaping itself, and that meant Scott Summers had his hands full, along with some of the other older kids, trying to wrangle kids into dresses and suits.

Elsie Dee had already escaped him three times, and he had just finally wrestled her into her dress when Heather Hudson came by, a hairbrush in hand, to survey the damage.

"You look like you could use some help," she said as she started to pull kids close to her and brush their hair — and suddenly Scott was the 'good cop,' as _no one_ wanted to get their tangles pulled out.

"Thanks," he breathed out Heather's way as he managed to snag one of the kids before he could take his shirt off _again._

"You know, you're the one who's going to have to go to the Reaping, and you're a mess," Heather pointed out.

"Nobody's going to care," he replied, though he was already trying to straighten his tie. The wrinkles from catching and snagging kids he couldn't do much about, though. "The cutters' kids wear flannels and jeans. I'm _fine_."

But Heather reached over and fixed his collar all the same, then pressed something into his hand.

He glanced down to see that she'd gotten him new cufflinks, with red glass in the middle to match the single red tie that he owned. "What's this?" he asked, his eyebrows high.

"Don't think I forgot it was your birthday yesterday," she told him, shaking her head. "Sixteen years old — you should have your own cufflinks."

"You really don't have to—"

"Scott, if you try to give them back, I will take it as a personal insult, and I swear to God, I will cry on you," she warned, though she was smirking the slightest bit, and he had to shake his head and chuckle as he put the cufflinks on and then gave her a quick hug.

"Thanks," he muttered, and she beamed at him and wrapped him in a much more proper hug before she helped him herd all the kids down to where they were supposed to be.

Last year, Scott had been about a head shorter than the kids in his age group — they grew them tall in Seven — but now he was one of the tallest kids there, which meant he had a good line of sight to some of the younger kids, the ones who were going to their first Reaping. One of the girls from the orphanage was already pulling out the braids Heather had put in her hair because she was nervous and needed something to do with her hands.

The speech Moira MacTaggert gave and then anthem and video were about the same as usual, and Scott wasn't paying much attention, looking over his shoulder to spot the rest of the kids, most of whom were crowded around Heather, though Elsie saw him look her way and waved jauntily before she went back to trying to catch Logan's attention — or Groot's or Rocket's. She wanted to say hi to everyone, really.

There really wasn't anyone else that he was worried about, and he let his mind wander through most of the ceremony. He didn't envy whoever was drawn this year — they'd probably get drowned out of sponsor attention by Logan's drama with Creed, not that either of them would care to help whoever it was. If Groot had been around this year, that would be different, but Creed was a creep, and Logan had already proven he'd walk away from people who needed him.

But when Moira got up to the names, Scott stood up a little straighter, straining with the rest of the kids to hear the name as first up was the girls: "Clara Creed!"

The hush that fell over everyone in District Seven was almost deafening as the tall blonde, who was unmistakably a Creed, started to make her way forward. But the silence didn't last long at all as already the muttering was starting up around her. It was unheard of, the sister of a victor getting drawn.

Scott just let out a breath. Whoever the kid was that got stuck with a Creed for a partner was screwed.

He watched Clara make her way up to the stage, though she didn't actually make it to shake Moira's hand as Creed broke form, simply grabbing up his sister as soon as she'd cleared the steps, which had the whole district in shock all over again. No one knew it was even _possible_ for Victor to … well. _Care_.

Scott couldn't hear over all the rumble of the crowd what Clara and Victor Creed were saying to each other as Moira told everyone to quiet down, though the mood of the entire gathered crowd had definitely shifted with that one name being called.

Finally, when Moira felt there was reasonable silence, she pulled the boy's name out of the bowl and cleared her throat: "Scott Summers."

 _Typical_.

Scott climbed up the stairs past the victors and Clara to shake Moira's hand, though he was at least pleasantly surprised to find that his new district partner wasn't scowling at him like her brother was, so that was something. Hopefully that meant she wasn't planning to outright murder him until at _least_ the Games.

"Don't worry," Clara said as she took his hand to shake it. "I'll deal with my idiot brother."

Scott smirked the slightest bit at that. "And I'll deal with the other idiot," he told her as Moira announced the two of them as the new tributes.

Scott was surprised to find that his smirk stayed in place as he watched Clara head off to the Justice Building with Creed, and it was clear now that they were away from the stage and all the murmurings from the crowd that she was giving him what-for about him pulling that stunt he had on the stage. Scott had to shake his head. She'd be _fine_ , clearly — and at least she wasn't as psychotic as her brother. He could work with that for a little while, anyway.

He wasn't expecting anyone to come for him for the family visitation time, and he was actually looking forward to taking a few minutes to himself to gather his thoughts, come up with a good plan, figure out how to beat the game when his two mentor choices were both… well. He wasn't going to get any help there, so he knew he had to do it himself.

He had his head in his hands and his eyes closed, mulling it over, thinking on what he knew, what he could learn — he was good with carving, with knives, but that was about it… But he was shocked out of his thoughts when Heather, of all people, came bursting through the door and nearly knocked him out of his seat in a hug.

"Hey, you've got this," she told him as she gave him another squeeze. "You've got the better deal on a coach, just — _fight._ You got that, Summers?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, shaking his head the slightest bit and wondering if it was Mac who let her in. It was probably Mac.

She held onto him a little tighter as her voice turned fierce and determined. "I don't care what the rules say, _when_ you get back, I'm adopting you _officially_. Like it or not. You hear me? You're _my_ boy."

For a moment, he was totally shocked as he turned his head toward Heather. _She's just trying to psych me up,_ he thought, in disbelief, as he tried to stow the smirk and make it something more like a smile. "Do I get a say in any of this?"

"Have we met? _No_. Of course you don't," Heather said before she couldn't help but give him another hug. "Those kids ... we need you here."

He took a breath and let it out slowly. "Heather," he said low. "I've got … there's about four years' worth of savings that I've got stashed in the mattress in my room."

"Stop," she said, shaking her head. "Tell me about it when you get _back_."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I!"

"I need you to use it for the kids if I don't make it, alright?" he insisted.

Her tough composure cracked the slightest, and she looked like she was fighting back the compulsion to cry. "Alright. But that's plan Z."

"Right. Plan A is to come back. I got that," he said with a little nod, clearly trying to backtrack on seeing that he'd made her a bit emotional. "You made that loud and clear."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You know Logan will do everything he can, right?"

"Don't worry; I'll work hard," Scott said. "I'll figure it out."

"That's not what I said," she countered. "And I know you will. You always do."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Yeah, well — I'll see you back here in a few weeks, then. Make sure the kids don't watch though, huh?"

"I'll do my best, but you know that's going to be hard when two of their favorite people are going to be on TV for the next few weeks."

"Three if you count Logan," Scott said with a smirk.

She gave him a dry look. "Groot is staying here, smart-alec."

"Then he can help you with the kids," Scott reasoned.

"Not the same, but yes. We'll be pulling for you." She couldn't stop herself from hugging him again and even went so far as to brush back his hair. "Watch out for the Creed girl. God forbid she's anything like her brother."

"If she is, I know what to do about it," Scott promised her before he gave her an honest hug as the Sentinels at the door seemed a little wary on just how to tell Mac's wife it was time to leave, so they just… didn't for a while.

"Are you ready to leave?" she whispered. "It appears as though I have a reputation in the white helmet crowd."

"You sound surprised," he whispered back with a smirk.

"Good Luck, Scott," Heather said with a genuinely sad tone. "All the Sentinels are pulling for you — _right guys_?" she called toward the men at the door, who all nodded their head and muttered their well wishes as she gave him a wink. "Toldja."

* * *

Logan couldn't sleep the night before the Reapings. It was every bit as bad as when he was in the draw, but for entirely different reasons. Thankfully, at least, he didn't have to deal with Jubilee first thing in the morning, and if there was any kind of God, she'd be distracted enough by her new tribute once they got to the Capitol that she'd leave him alone.

He did at least shave, because he knew that _more_ than Jubilee would give him flack otherwise, so rather than fight the tide, he just went with it for a change.

When he stepped out of the house, he was only marginally surprised to see Groot standing outside waiting for him with Rocket. The two of them headed up toward the center of the town side by side. The kids were already gathering when they got there, and Groot showed Logan the way to the backstage section, where Moira greeted them both a bit more warmly than he'd expected her to.

"They'll be startin' in a few," Moira said as she pulled Logan along by the hand, still not quite approaching Groot and Rocket, as the big raccoon did not like her in the least. "Jest follow Groot and try tae stay opposite of Creed an' we'll get through this jest fine." She patted his arm affectionately before she left him with Groot to wait for the ceremony to start.

Before the speeches began, they all filed out onto the stage, and Logan had to hold his breath as he looked out at the crowd gathered. It was a totally different sensation being up there as a victor, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't helping him at all.

Elsie was down in front, and when he spotted her bouncing on the balls of her feet, he had to give her a little wink. Groot was chuckling quietly at her, and Rocket's ears were perked up toward the little blonde that had been giving him _so_ many cookies.

Logan looked out over the crowd to spot the rest of the kids — most of whom were talking among themselves — though Scott was clearly watching out for the littler ones as it looked like he was doing a mental headcount, his head bobbing slightly as he turned to each in turn.

The speeches went quickly, and when Moira pulled the name out for the girl, Logan realized he was holding his breath, though he simply wasn't prepared to hear 'Clara Creed'.

He couldn't help but look up at Victor as the shock washed over the monster, even before he looked out to the crowd. Logan wasn't even aware Victor _had_ siblings — and the pretty blonde girl headed up the aisle … _couldn't_ be Victor's sister.

The murmurs from the crowd rose up as Victor made a bit of a scene, and Logan tactfully looked away from the two of them even as Clara told her big brother to keep his paws to himself before she broke them.

Clara shot a little tight smile toward Logan and Groot and took her place near Moira with a look that clearly read that she was ready for her to get on with it, her hands folded in front of her and her long, white-blonde braid hanging right down the middle of her back.

But when they called Scott's name, Logan just …. " _No_ ," he whispered, entirely taken back as the murmurs rose up again. He watched as Scott came up, jaw locked and looking serious, though after that, he and Creed shared a look that read clearly that neither of them thought this was a coincidence.

But Logan couldn't afford to stew on it right now. Not knowing that Scott didn't have anyone to see him off.

As soon as they were cleared of the stage, Victor started muttering to Clara about how there was no way in hell he was going to let her lose as she threw her hand up in his face and told him to worry about himself.

Logan, on the other hand, had moved quickly, abandoning the protocols to head right off the front of the stage and grab Heather to pull her past the Sentinels that had come in from the Capitol. "She's the closest he's got to family," he told them as he pushed her through, sure that she'd want a moment with him.

"Are you coming?" Heather asked.

"No, I'll have time later," Logan said. "He probably won't want to see me anyhow. Kid doesn't like me." And before Heather could argue with him, she was whisked into the Justice Building.

Logan started pacing after she was gone, already running through how _the hell_ he was going to get the kid funded, since he knew there was no way Scott would ever _listen_ to him. He stopped when he thought of it. _When was the last time anyone actually won because of mentor advice anyhow?_

Logan made his way to the train once the new tributes stepped out of the rooms — though Clara and Victor had to wait a few extra minutes for Scott... which wasn't a shock by the look on the Sentinel's faces outside the door, who kept checking their watches.

Logan and Creed shared a look and sat at opposite sides of the car as the two new tributes walked in. When Clara got to the center of the car, she looked both ways at the two victors and turned sharply on her heel to go sit near Logan.

" _You_ — give me some space," she said to her brother with one finger pointed his way.

"Okay if I sit here, then?" Scott asked, indicating a seat across from her, his head tipped to one side as he was clearly studying her.

"Sure," she said as she glared toward Victor. "Are you considering a partnership, because that would tweak my brother terribly. So I'm all for it."

"Oh. Yeah, sure — that would help our chances," Scott said, sounding a bit surprised at the offer and the reasoning behind it.

"So, Scott," Clara said, in a bit of a businesslike tone. "What did you do back home?"

"I'm a carver," he said with a shrug.

She leaned forward just a bit with an expression on her face that showed her heritage. "You _were_ a carver. One way or another, you're not anymore."

He leaned forward to match her body language and meet her gaze. "Think I'll stick to the present tense until they bury me, thanks."

She smiled crookedly. "That's not what I meant. Even if you win, you won't go back to what you were. Ask your mentor. It's not allowed anymore."

"Yeah, well, my work's a little safer than what he did. And easily transferred to hobbies," Scott pointed out with one eyebrow raised. "

"My brother worked in the saw mill," Clara said. "Nothing dangerous about the job he worked there ... "

"Well, when I get back and keep on carving in my spare time, you'll have to eat those words, won't you?" he said.

"I look forward to it, Scott," Clara said, still smiling crookedly before she put her hand out. "So. You wanna make this official? We're supposed to pass it by our mentors, but I _know_ mine will say no, which means yours will say yes."

"I'd ask if I have a choice in the matter, but it's apparently just not that kind of day." Scott smirked at her before he put his hand in hers and nodded once, sharply. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Logan shook his head at the two of them and glanced toward Victor, who was clearly fuming already. This was shaping up to be another _highly_ dramatic showing from Seven one way or another.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Eight_

* * *

Most of the district had already gone down to the main area for the Reaping, but Remy LeBeau knew this was the best time to get the finest pickings.

He didn't steal from the citizens of Eight during the Reaping — he wasn't honorless — but the victors and the Sentinels and the mayor? Different story entirely. And since everyone was down where the action was, Remy was where the loot was.

Norman Osborn had plenty of anti-theft measures around the place, and he'd certainly turned them all on now that he would be going to the Capitol for a few weeks. But that just made it more of a challenge — and more fun — for Remy.

The roof would be his best point of entry, and Remy climbed up the side of the tall, gaudy building to get himself there, cutting through a few wires on his way. He didn't much care that Osborn would know he'd been there after the fact as long as he didn't leave anything to implicate himself, so once the alarm systems and cameras were down, it was really more a matter of getting past the rest of the systems.

And Remy knew there were plenty of systems he'd have to cut through. There were plenty more wires and control boxes, more than necessary for just a simple camera setup or alarms. But again, that was what made it worth his while.

He slipped in through the window into one of the bedrooms on the top floor, though it looked like the place had been converted to an office or something — bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a pretty desk in the center of the room, but that wasn't what Remy was there for. He knew Osborn had an eye for finer things than simply nice oak desks.

The door was wired, and so was the handle, so Remy took it off its hinges once he'd cut the wires and set the whole thing aside, strolling down the stairs into the living room to find what he was looking for — plenty of ostentatious decorations, shiny baubles, and trinkets.

Remy filled the pockets of his long coat with what he could find, glancing at the green ivory clock to see how much time he had left before the Sentinels would come looking for him for not showing up to the Reaping. With a flourish, he tossed the last shiny bauble back and forth in his hands before it landed in his pocket, and he climbed back out through a different window before he rushed down to where the rest of the district was gathering, taking care to watch his coat for pickpockets so no one would take his loot before he could get it fleeced after the Reaping.

He was only just in time, and the Sentinels gave him a sharp look, but they were always _just_ giving him looks. Nobody had a thing on him, not that they could prove, so he grinned at them, gave them a two-fingered wave, and took his place with the older kids in the lines. Next year, this would be even easier. They didn't look so hard at the ones who weren't Reaping age if _they_ were late. And Remy had seen some yellow gold decorations he wanted to go back for next time.

The escort for Eight gave her little speech about the Quarter Quell and its historical significance as Remy searched the crowd for a pretty face. There was always someone after a Reaping who needed a shoulder to cry their relief into, usually the older girls who were so happy they were safe — and there was no shortage of pretty girls in Eight.

He had his sights on a pretty blonde and had just shot her a wide grin when she noticed him looking her way when Shirley stepped to the bowl with the names in it, so when she called out Remy's name, it took him a second to realize what had happened.

And here he'd been thinking that he'd get all the way through without his old man delivering on his promise...

He looked to either side of him for a moment as the kids started to part before he just shook his head and let out a low whistle. "Well, alrighty den," he muttered to himself as he strode toward the stage, his pockets filled with trinkets from Eight's mentor as he ran through how he could keep all the baubles well enough hidden that they'd still be waiting for him when he got back — maybe he could hide them in the Justice Building. He'd have ten minutes to his lonesome, after all.

He shook Shirley Lewis' hand when he got up to the stage and shot her a brilliant grin, though when they called the girl's name and a skinny little blonde made her way up, Remy was sure to give her an even wider smile as "Gwen Stacey" made her way up with wide eyes. She looked scared half to death, so Remy took her offered hand and just made a sweeping bow as he kissed it.

"Don't you worry none, _cher_. You stick wit' ol' Remy and you gon' be jes' fine," he said with a little smile and a wink.

She stared at him in near disbelief as Shirley presented the district with their two tributes, though Remy was surprised when Osborn himself almost immediately put an arm around the little blonde's shoulders to steer her toward the Justice Building.

Which was fine by him. He didn't need Osborn's attention for the next, oh, ten minutes.

He waved the Sentinels off once they got to the Justice Building, and in an instant, Remy was in motion, secreting away the baubles and trinkets throughout the room — so he could find them later when he got back to Eight. No point in wasting all that hard work, after all. He almost had to smile, though, when he was examining the bookshelf and found, etched in with what had to be a penknife, "Peter Parker was here."

"You were, sho' 'nuff," Remy told the little etching, smirking to himself as he put one of the better pieces under Peter's name. Might as well carry on the tradition.

The whole thing took him a little more than five minutes, so he politely asked the Sentinels to take him to the train with a grin that had both of them glancing at each other.

"Don' go lettin' nobody step in ol' Remy's reputation 'til I get back!" he called out over his shoulder, still chuckling to himself all the way to the train.

* * *

Gwen Stacey was all nerves that morning. She'd made sure to go check on Aunt May — she'd kept her promise to Peter to keep an eye out for her — and when she got there, May was waiting with that same kind smile that she always wore whenever Gwen came by to say hello. She waved at her as she made her way up the front porch steps.

"Just had to say hello before I have to go … you know. Reaping Day. Again," Gwen said as she played with her fingers and tried to hold still. "Had to make sure you were doing okay this morning."

"As well as I can be, Gwen," May told her with a little smile. "And what about you?"

"Oh. Me? I'm .. I'll be fine. Just fine."

May watched Gwen for a minute before she reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. "It's alright. I miss him too," she whispered into Gwen's shoulder for the duration of the hug.

Gwen hugged her tightly for as long as May was willing to go along with it before she sniffed a little bit and wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Okay, so. I just had to say hello." She shrugged her shoulders up as she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to smile.

"Yes, thank you," May said gently. Her own eyes were glistening, and she laid a hand on Gwen's arm. "Would you walk with me to the main square? It looks like we both could use the company."

Gwen just nodded quickly. "Yes. please," she said as she took May's arm and the two of them started toward the square in silence.

The walk was long and slightly awkward as the two women slowed the closer they got to the square, but once they reached the point where Gwen had to go get in line, May gave her another quick hug and wished her luck.

She didn't make it ten steps before she nearly bumped into Harry Osborn. Or he nearly bumped into her. She gave him a wave and a tight smile as they got into the line and slowly made their way to the check in. Harry was nervous, and looked concerned for her sake, if not his own too. "You doing alright?" he asked, bumping her shoulder with his.

"Sure," she said, sucking it up a bit more with him nearby. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, though her tone clearly said otherwise.

"Well… you know. Last year," Harry said awkwardly. "I know you're still upset about Peter — and I know it's gotta be rough coming back here — so ... maybe after this let's go do something, huh? Just ... screw the Reaping and the Games."

She tried to smile but scrunched up her nose instead. "Like what? I was planning to go see Aunt May afterward. She could use the company, you know?"

"Yeah, that's true," he said, though he looked openly disappointed. "I could join you, then?"

"I'm sure May would appreciate that, yeah," she said with a nod as they got up to where the kids separated. "So. I'll … see you later then."

"Yeah, I'll come find you later," Harry called out her way.

Gwen shook her head to herself as she took her place with the other sixteen-year-olds. Harry had been nearly impossible to avoid since last year's Games. She didn't know how the Capitol had fabricated that video of her and Harry, but it was just _wrong_. She'd never thought of Harry like that, and she wasn't sure if it was animation or some kind of actors or what — but whatever it was clearly had Harry thinking about it. Which… made him hard to deal with sometimes. Or all the time, really.

By the time the speeches started, Gwen had mostly distracted herself to the point that she could ignore the looks she was getting from some of the kids in the crowd. That tape had done her no favors. Truly.

The boy's name was called, and a rarely seen roguish young man swept up to the stage with a swagger, of all things, and a cheeky smile that had Gwen trying not to gape at his sass as she lifted one hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear and turned partway away from the stage, trying to keep her reactions in check since she'd learned already that the cameras had a tendency to seek out old family and friends of past tributes.

And a few short moments later, the crowd around her gasped, and she looked around — too distracted in her thoughts to pay attention to the fact that they'd called her name. "Oh crap," she whispered, then started to shakily make her way toward the aisle, her head tipped downward as she peeked at the people around her, trying to look smaller.

But when she got on the stage and this Remy character didn't shake her hand but kissed it instead … well she was at a complete loss of words. Not for lack of nerve or because he'd shaken her up — but because she couldn't believe that he was _flirting_ with her at a time like this!

She stared at him open-mouthed for a moment before she snapped her mouth shut and crinkled her nose his way. "Okay then," she said as she stepped to her spot on the stage and just gave her new district partner the side eyes, leaning a bit away from him.

As soon as Shirley had presented them to the crowd, though, Gwen found Norman Osborn at her side, his arm around her shoulders as he started to steer her along toward the Justice Building with a look of concern. "Don't worry, Miss Stacey," he told her in a low tone. "I'm not losing anyone else to these Games."

She smiled up at him a bit nervously but just followed along as he led her, letting him talk her through what he was going to teach her but not really listening. She'd been in the Justice Building only a year ago saying goodbye to Peter, and here she was all over again.

Her dad was the first one to get there, crossing the room in three strides to wrap her in a tight hug. "You listen to Norman Osborn, and you stay away from the Careers, and if you're in danger, you _run_ , Gwen. You got that? Don't be a hero."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, nodding her head as she squeezed him back. "We don't need any more heroes in the family."

He kissed the top of her head at that. "Honey, you can be a hero when you come back to me, but don't be one in the Games. It's just not worth it."

"I know," she said. "That never works out for anyone."

He just hugged her tighter and kissed her forehead once more, though when the door opened again to admit Peter's Aunt May, even Gwen's dad couldn't hold back his emotion when the older woman simply sat down beside Gwen and wrapped her arms around the both of them in silence.


	3. The Outer Districts

**Notes: Awww, thanks, Silz. We're really glad we got you on Crossbones for this one!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: "The Outer Districts"**

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Nine_

* * *

The morning had been stormy in Nine, and the thunderclouds hung low far on the horizon as Kitty made her way over to the Wagners. She'd been watching out for Amanda and Stefan as best she could since Kurt didn't come back.

She'd spent so much time with them that she barely knocked before she stepped into the family living room, where Margali was brushing out Amanda's long blonde hair so she could put it up into a French braid. The twins had both grown at least eight inches since last summer — and had more to go, though this first Reaping without their big brother was weighing hard on the family.

Gone was the blue silk bowtie that Stefan had worn, and all that was left was the single blue satiny ribbon that Margali very carefully tied at the end of Amanda's braid, though even as she made the knot, she frowned at the bow and let out a heavy sigh before she rested her hands on Amanda's shoulders. "You're as ready as you can be," she told her gently, and Amanda got up to make her way over to sit with Kitty.

Kitty had brought a new tie for Stefan — bright red this time and one of the long styles that the higher ups in the district wore all the time — though the young man looked a bit ill as his mother showed him how to tie the knot properly.

"You doing okay?" Amanda asked Kitty with a bit of a hitch to her voice.

"As good as I can be, I suppose," Kitty replied frankly as she smoothed the fabric of her yellow dress over her knees.

"Mama is going to make a nice meal tonight, and we'll eat it out under the stars away from the television," Amanda told her. "You should come."

"That sounds perfect, and I'd love to," Kitty said as she looked up to Margali to make sure she wasn't overstepping some alone time with the twins.

"Oh good — I've already made enough for four," Margali told her with a kind smile.

Kitty gave her a little smile in return and let out a breath as Stefan pulled a face and fiddled with his hair. It didn't want to behave the way he wanted it to.

"Stop messing with it, or you'll make it worse," Amanda scolded him, though her solution to lick her hand and try and fight his cowlick had him screwing up his face at her and pushing her away.

"You'll make it _gross_ ," he countered.

"If you two are done," Margali said, "It's time to get going. No sense in making them come after us."

The twins glanced at each other with looks that clearly read they were thinking about doing just that, but for Margali's sake, they headed down to the main area, where they separated first along boy/girl lines and then Amanda gave Kitty a quick hug before she was off to the thirteen-year-olds area.

Kitty couldn't help but try to watch for them, and it didn't take long to find Amanda, looking nervous as she hugged herself far down in the front of the crowd. Stefan was scuffing his shoes on the ground and trying to keep his frown from deepening any further. "Man, little siblings are hard to look after," Kitty said to herself. "How did you do it, Kurt?" But on thinking of her lost friend, she shrunk in on herself and frowned at the ground. All she wanted was for this stupid thing to be over with already.

She kept half of her attention on Amanda and the other half on Stefan — and she was so focused on them that when she heard her name called, she looked around the crowd automatically before it sunk in that it was _her_ name... about half a second before the girls around her started shoving her toward the aisle. As soon as she was in the aisle, she saw Stefan, looking to be in a panic as she gave him a warning look and shook her head. As she passed by Amanda, she whispered 'don't even think about it' moments before she climbed up the steps to the stage.

Her father was pitching a fit already, and _that_ , more than anything else, had her cringing. Neither of her parents seemed to have five minutes for her until now — and _now_ they were panicking. Of course. She was dreading the time for the families to have their visit, because instead of being able to get a hug from Margali and the twins — her time would instead be filled with empty promises from her father on how he simply wouldn't allow this to happen.

She met Amanda's gaze in the crowd and tried to tell with just a look that she wasn't going anywhere, that she was going to come back and take care of them. But then, she couldn't lie that easily with just her gaze. Not when Kurt had been standing right where she was just a year ago, and he'd never come back.

* * *

Alex Summers didn't really _do_ ties.

It wasn't that he didn't think they looked nice on other people or that he didn't know how to tie one or anything like that. It was just that he really just didn't like having to dress up. Jeans and a tee shirt any day — maybe a jacket if he had to. But a suit and tie felt restrictive, and he'd never liked them.

Sure, he wore the nice new tie his foster mom gave him — she got him a different colored one every year, though since this was only his second, that wasn't saying too much.

Still, he wore the new red tie and let his mom straighten it under his chin before he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and ran off to where everyone was gathering. He wasn't concerned at all — he was thirteen and his parents weren't poor, not really, so he'd only had to take out a few tesserae, and that was when he was twelve and the harvest was really bad that year.

So the Reaping Day was really more of a day off than anything else, and he was looking forward to spending the time lying out in the field and daydreaming for a while.

Once he got to the main area, he ended up standing beside one of the tall blonde Wagner twins, and he gave the kid a crooked half smile in greeting. The whole district knew it had been hard on that family, and they all tried to give them a wide berth, even with them working in the fields. But the boy quietly returned the half-smile before Robert Kelley, Nine's escort, started up with the rigamarole and Alex fell back into not paying a lick of attention.

This was only his second Reaping, and already, Alex was bored with it. He didn't care that Kelley was excited about this being a 'Quarter Quell,' whatever the heck that meant. And he really wanted to leave, because the Wagner kid next to him looked like he was going to pass out, and he really didn't want the kid to pass out.

"Okay, okay, move on already," he muttered under his breath, which at least got the kid to smile instead of looking queasy, an he had to grin outright.

But then when Kelley _did_ move on, it was to draw out the girl's name, and while Alex only sort of recognized "Katherine Pryde" from around the fields, it sure seemed to strike a chord with his new blonde friend, who looked _upset._

 _Devastated_ was more the word for it, actually, and Alex frowned and turned away, trying to at least give him some kind of privacy. Hitting this guy twice in two years was really … just wrong.

He didn't know what the story was between the Wagner boy and the brunette who came up on stage — girlfriend or whatever — but he was distracted enough by trying not to be involved that when "Alex Summers" was the next thing Kelley called out, he honestly thought the reason the kids were parting around him was they were also trying to give the Wagner boy some space.

Which ... was not the case, he quickly realized when Kelley called out his name again and he very loudly, and clearly, swore.

His mom was going to get mad at him for that one, but the situation totally called for it.

He climbed the stairs to shake Katherine Pryde's hand before Kelley presented them both, though he was starting to feel a little queasy himself. Maybe the Wagner kid had the right idea.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _District Ten_

* * *

The Reaping was due to start in a little while, but Ten's two victors were still at Charles Xavier's house, finishing up their chess game over morning tea. The main square was close enough to the Victor's Village that they had time before they were expected to be there, and for twelve years, the two of them had made it a point to start out every Reaping in calm and quiet, to prepare for the next several weeks of mayhem and murder. It was just as necessary for their sanity as anything else.

"Any expectations for the tributes we'll meet today, Charles?" Henry McCoy asked with a bit of a forlorn tone.

Charles let out a sigh. "Considering the last few years?" he replied over the top of his tea cup. "I'll be pleased to have someone less murderous and without a criminal record."

"Somehow, I think you're a bit too optimistic, Charles."

"You wouldn't be the first to say so," Charles said with the slightest of smiles as he set the empty cup down. He let out a breath and looked toward the windows. The same storm that was hitting Four that morning could be seen on the horizon across the flat grazing lands of Ten, even if it was still a ways out. "Still, I suppose it comes from speaking with our mutual friend in SHIELD — he keeps assuring me this is the last year, and I can't help but hope the last year yields someone less…." Charles waved his hand for a moment, gesturing toward the storm that seemed to better articulate just what kind of tributes they'd had recently.

Hank followed Charles' gaze nodded quietly, setting down his own cup for a moment before he let out a breath. "Well then — shall we?"

"I suppose it's nothing we can push back."

Before they left, they washed the dishes so as not to leave Charles' place in disarray, and then the two victors from Ten headed out to the main square, Hank pushing Charles ahead of him as they chatted companionably, still maintaining the atmosphere of peace for as long as they could before they arrived at the stage where everyone was gathering.

Of course, it was no longer possible to have anything like peace once they were joined by Ten's escort, an excitable and very opinionated man named Jameson who always seemed to be a shade of purple as he discussed whatever topic of the day had him riled up. As usual, he was annoyed at the generally shabby state of the district he'd been assigned and complained loudly about it as the kids gathered in the main area below them — though by the time the Reaping actually started, he had moved on to complaining about the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, muttering to himself that he was going to be upset if this thing went long enough that he got caught in the weather and mud.

Still, the storm was rolling in faster than anyone had expected — which meant, surprisingly, that Jameson wasn't nearly as long-winded as usual, giving a much shorter than usual speech, even considering the momentous occasion of the Quarter Quell. The two victors on the stage could see that Jameson was tapping his foot impatiently all the way through the required video, too, and he just nodded once, sharply, when it was through, and strolled up to the bowls with the names in them.

"Right then. Gentlemen…" He reached into the bowl and scowled at the name as it was clear he was working out the pronunciation in his head quickly before he called it out. "Arkady Gregorovitch!"

If the boy's clothes were any indication, he was another veteran of the slaughterhouse. Even the clean overalls had old bloodstains at the hem by his boots. But this boy was massive, easily six feet tall, broad, and with a chip on his shoulder.

"I'll take this one if you'd like, Henry," Charles said at a whisper just after the boy walked by, trying to make things easier for the slightly younger victor if he could.

"We'll see who his partner is," Henry replied without taking his eyes off the new tribute. There had been a reason he'd taken Cletus Kasady last year — he could physically restrain even a broad young man like this Gregorovitch if he put his mind to it, and he was loathe to put Charles in danger, even if Charles was constantly trying to make things easier for him in return. Still, he appreciated the gesture. "Who knows — he might be a gentle giant," Henry said with a little smirk.

"Who's the optimist now?" Charles teased.

Henry chuckled under his breath at that. "I said we'd wait and see."

But Jameson was already moving on to the ladies, the ominous greenish clouds in the distance clearly lighting a fire under the escort as he cleared his throat, frowning again at the name on the slip of paper he drew out. "Yuriko Oyama!" he called out this time, his moustache practically twitching under his nose as the crowd started to part around the girl in question.

The girl was tall and held her head high as she stalked through the crowd as if the very presence of those around her was an insult to her. She even went so far as to sneer at Jameson when he tried to shake her hand, instead totally blowing him off to stand a good distance from Arkady, again openly looking him up and down.

"Oh, no. That one's yours," Henry said softly.

"Thank you for that, Henry," Charles said dryly, letting out a bit of a breath as he looked over the two newest tributes from Ten. "It seems the pattern is still holding," he muttered quietly as Jameson quickly rushed through the final presentation and all but shooed the two tributes off to the Justice Building to try and escape the rain — though he was just a hair too late as the clouds simply opened up over their heads, going from dry to downpour in an instant, as was common in the district.

To make matters worse, Jameson started to swear loudly as Charles rolled past. The sudden downpour had turned the dusty ground around them almost instantly to mud so that the wheels of Charles' chair splashed onto Jameson's new suit. It wasn't an obviously purposeful thing, either — he honestly did need a bit of a hand from Henry to get through the quickly-forming mud.

But Henry was chuckling low under his breath as the purple-faced escort stomped off onto the train.

"You really should be more careful, Charles," Henry teased.

"I should," Charles agreed with a smirk. "Next time, perhaps."

* * *

July 1: Reaping Day

District Eleven

* * *

"I swear, it's not that bad," Miles Morales assured his best friend, Ganke, as Ganke adjusted the tie under his chin with a frown. The two friends were only a few months apart in age, but because Miles' birthday was after the Reaping and Ganke's was before, this was Ganke's third and only Miles' second Reaping.

And yet Miles was somehow apparently better equipped to deal with the whole thing, as Ganke was horribly nervous about it. He'd never liked dressing up and always felt self-conscious in a suit.

Miles, on the other hand, thought he kind of rocked the black suit, even if it was a really, really old hand-me-down suit he'd found in his dad's closet.

His dad was gone, and had been since Miles was old enough to be Reaped. Not dead, just… gone. So, technically Miles wasn't supposed to be living in the house anymore, but someone was paying for the house and the heating and A/C and stuff, so it was the one thing Miles had that told him his dad hadn't completely abandoned him. At least he only had to work part-time in the orchards so he could still go to school with Ganke. They were top of their class, and before he'd left, Miles' dad was always telling them that they were meant for more than picking apples.

"Yeah, well, I wish the sleeves would… you know." Ganke tugged at the edge of his suit. He'd put on some weight since last year, and that in addition to the few inches he'd grown meant the suit simply didn't fit him right.

"Hey, you're lucky," Miles pointed out with a sideways grin. "You have an excuse to have shorter sleeves. It's killer hot out there." He gestured out the window, and Ganke had to smirk at that.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Ganke asked as the two of them locked Miles' door behind them and headed down to the Reaping area. "You gonna talk to that cute girl this year?"

"She has a boyfriend, Ganke," Miles said, shaking his head.

"What? Wait, when did this happen?" Ganke asked, and Miles snorted and shook his head.

"Last year."

"Wait, really?"

"Really." Miles laughed at the look on his best friend's face. Ganke was a good friend, the best anyone could ask for, really, but he was hopeless sometimes. Though he couldn't exactly say anything about it, because Ganke still managed to be the first of the two of them to get girls to talk to him, to get a date, to get a first kiss. Miles didn't really understand it, but it was entertaining to watch the look of relief and celebration when Ganke's plans would actually, well, work.

The two friends chatted back and forth all the way down to the main area, though unfortunately, they had to split once they got there. Miles went with the other thirteen-year-olds, and Ganke with the guys one year older as Everett Ross stepped up to the mic.

It was no secret Ross didn't like being the escort for Eleven, and he frowned at the gathered crowd long and hard before he broke into his speech.

Miles could feel his foot tapping as he got more and more impatient. He really didn't like being talked down to, and Ross could make even a rehearsed speech sound condescending. In fact, Eleven was probably one of the few districts where the kids looked forward to the video that played every year, because it meant Ross had to shut up.

"Ladies first," Ross said as he did the self-important strut up to the microphone and the bowls, and Miles caught Ganke mimicking Ross' walk across the group of kids and had to hide his smile behind his hand.

Miles was surprised when they called out the name "Monet St. Croix," and a tiny kid started to shakily make her way up to the stage. He'd seen her around school — she was leaps and bounds ahead of him and Ganke even though she was younger. He'd always thought she was, like, ten. He had no idea she was even old enough to get Reaped.

As Monet passed the mayor of Eleven, T'Chaka frowned her way, and Miles winced the slightest in sympathy. That was the second little-little girl to get drawn, and after Ororo Munroe last year and what had gone down with T'Challa, it was no secret that the mayor was upset to see young, bright minds go — and remind him of what had happened with his son.

But where Ororo had been scrappy and defiant, Monet just seemed to accept it, standing on the stage with her shoulders squared. She was always quiet, even at school, so it was no surprise that she didn't say anything, just sort of stood off to the side as Sam Wilson did a horrible job of hiding how upset he was too over having another little-little girl.

Ross, on the other hand, just looked annoyed. It was so, so obvious that he wanted a victor from Eleven so that he could boost his own standing in the Capitol — and maybe get reassigned to a "better" district — and it was clear he'd already dismissed Monet as he moved to the boys' names.

But Miles knew better than that. He'd seen her at school and knew she was killer smart, and that counted for a lot. It was what kept Miles out of trouble, after all. Outsmarting kids — and Sentinels — bigger than you was pretty much a requirement of life in Eleven, and Miles thought it was kind of stupid of Ross to dismiss Monet so fast.

He'd already decided that he would be rooting for Monet when Ross pulled out the second name, though that quickly crumbled when he heard his own name being called out.

Miles stood stock still for a moment, his eyes wide as he froze for a good long moment, and then the urge to bolt was totally overwhelming. He spun on his heel to do just that, but then he saw the Sentinels headed his way and swallowed loudly, sure his eyes were going to pop out of his head for how wide they were.

"O-okay," he muttered half to himself, spinning on his heel once more as he just really didn't want to get carried today, thank you very much.

But he definitely still wanted to bolt, so he maybe took off at a bit of a run to the stage, which had the Sentinels up there looking worried, but he still came skidding to a stop in front of Ross, wide-eyed and trying hard not to keep going past the guy as Ross looked him over — and Miles could see the second that Ross dismissed him as a possibility, too, as the escort let out a heavy sigh and sounded clearly disappointed as he presented both of the tributes to the district.

No faith at all, that guy.

Miles shoved both of his hands in his pockets after he and Monet shared a quick handshake, giving her an encouraging sort of grin as they both headed to the Justice Buildings for the goodbyes.

He was kind of hoping his dad would come by, though he wasn't really that surprised when it was Ganke who came instead, wide-eyed and in total disbelief.

"You're in the Games," he said, and Miles just gave him a dry look.

"Yeah, yeah, I noticed that, thanks, Ganke."

"You're in the GAMES."

"Yeah."

"Miles!"

"Ganke — seriously—"

"The Games, Miles!"

Miles just shook his head at Ganke. He'd been planning to freak out himself, but that was hard to do when his best friend was freaking out — which, now that he thought about it, was actually probably a good thing as now he sat down with Ganke, both of them working hard to come down from sheer panic.

"So… what're you gonna use as your Games name?" Ganke asked at last after a long moment of silence.

"Really? That's what you're thinking about right now?"

"Well, I gotta know how to address my sponsor money."

"Ganke…" Miles shook his head. "You don't have any sponsor money."

"Says you. I have some stuff scraped up—"

"For your school stuff. I know — I saw your application for the science courses." Miles shook his head at his best friend. "Besides, I don't need your science money. I'm adorable." He flashed a huge grin that he really didn't feel, but it had Ganke snorting out a little laugh all the same.

But now that they were both coming down out of the trees, of course that was when the Sentinels showed up to let them know that their time was up. Miles looked past the white uniforms once more to see if maybe his dad was there, but still nothing, so he let out all his breath with his cheeks puffed out. "See ya later!" he called out to his best friend before the Sentinels directed him toward the train.

For some reason, they seemed to think he needed the directing. And there were more than just two of them.

Miles took a deep breath and put up his hands to frame the Sentinels in a square, one eye closed. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I could take just the two. Good move bringing backup."

The Sentinels shared a look and more or less shepherded Miles — and Monet — onto the train, where Ross was long gone, not even bothering with this year's tributes, though Sam had a friendly smile at least. Miles sorta had to feel bad for the guy, though. He probably had the youngest tributes this year — twelve and thirteen.

Monet didn't say a word except to take a seat nearby, but Miles waved at Sam with the tips of his fingers. "So-o-o-o. What now?"

"Now we try to get to know each other a little bit on the way to the Capitol," Sam replied with a gentle kind of smile. "Get to know your partner too. Watch the other Reapings if you want to — just to see what's coming."

"Don't worry," Miles said with a small smile that he didn't really feel. "They won't see us coming, right?"

"They never do," Sam replied.

* * *

July 1: Reaping Day

District Twelve

* * *

It was still early morning when America Chavez made her way back into the district after a good three days of hiding out in the woods. She had plenty of catches over her shoulder, but really, she'd been enjoying the distance. Things got sort of depressing around Twelve the closer they got to the Reaping, especially since last year, so she just left for a while — clear her head. Get away from it all.

She'd hardly taken two steps toward their hideout, though, before Eli Bradley noticed her. The guy had probably been waiting up for her, and she almost had to smirk at the relieved sort of look on his face. "What?" she asked with an innocent expression. "You thought I was just gonna ditch you losers?"

"You've been threatening to for a while now," Eli pointed out, but America waved him off.

"Yeah, only when the kids get… you know. Like they are." She shoved her catches and supplies into his arms and turned the other direction. "Tell Nate something came through the woods and snapped his trap, so I'll need another few," she told him over her shoulder as she headed off. She had other places to be that morning that didn't involve getting a lecture from Eli.

She'd have to go back to their place eventually and change into a dress, which she hated. She was much more comfortable in the short black shorts and tee shirt she was wearing now, and the Reaping dresses weren't even short enough to make it fun while she had to stand there and listen to the whole spiel about how great and honorable the Games were or whatever. She'd lost two of her best friends to the Games.

Talk about great and honorable.

She picked a few leaves out of her bushy hair as she made her way to the other side of the district — sleeping on the ground hadn't done her any favors, and she was still a little sore — before she hit the place where she knew she'd find most of their group. Billy Kaplan, her best remaining friend, had been coming down to the cemetery for three years running now since Cassie Lang, and now with Kate Bishop — his brother, Tommy, was there too. And Teddy Altman — Teddy was always wherever Billy was, especially when Billy was upset.

So there they were. Every one of the kids that was keeping her in the stupid district. If she thought for half a second she could have just taken them and run away from all of Marvel, that was where she'd be, but where Teddy could probably keep up, Billy was not exactly cut out for anything that wasn't books, and Tommy was pretty much a blinking neon sign to Sentinels with how often he was in trouble. She'd make it maybe two days before they got caught.

"How you doing?" she asked with a small frown as she slid up next to Billy, who startled the slightest bit at her sudden appearance.

Billy turned to her and then broke into a little smile, throwing his arms around her neck. "When did you get back? Where did you come from? Don't scare me."

She just chuckled and returned the squeeze. "Um ... like ten minutes ago, the woods, and you really need to get your hearing checked, because I wasn't even trying to scare you." She glanced around the cemetery for a moment. The boys were gathered where Cassie and Kate were, the special part of the cemetery dedicated to Games deaths, and she had never really been comfortable there. "So — I need you guys back at the ranch, or Eli's going to have my head for being gone for so long. You guys can diffuse him, right?"

"Nobody can diffuse him — we just let him go and watch the explosion," Tommy said with a crooked sort of smile.

"I'll talk to him," Teddy assured America, his arm around Billy's shoulders as soon as America had let the scrawny kid go from her own hug. She gave Teddy the slightest of nods before all four of them headed back.

The boys, of course, were already dressed for the Reaping, so America kicked them all out while she found her red dress — as short as she was allowed to get away with, because screw the rules — and double-checked to make sure she didn't have any dirt or marks from the forest before she emerged again.

"So, what was the point of you dragging us down here if you were just going to make us stand outside?" Tommy asked, shaking his head at her.

"Gotta stay in practice," she replied easily, draping an arm around his shoulders and leaning in conspiratorially. "Can't let you boys forget who's in charge."

"That would be easier to believe if you were around more often," Eli grumped, but America just gave him a look.

"Yeah, remind me where the food comes from," she said his way, and while he chewed that one over, she pulled Billy under her other arm and marched off with the twins.

It seemed like the gathering of kids in Twelve just got smaller and shabbier every year, so the little group of misfits that arrived just before the deadline had definitely been missed. There weren't enough kids in the whole district that the difference of six wasn't a whole row of missing boys — and America. Some of the Sentinels were giving Tommy in particular looks like they had been looking forward to having to go hunt him down for skipping out.

Tommy just saluted them as he passed with a pleasant "Mornin'" that had Billy laughing outright at his brother.

America shook her head and shooed the boys off to go stand in their respective places. Nate and Eli were just one Reaping away from being out of the running, so she had half an eye on both of them, knowing their names were in most often — though… Tommy's was probably in there plenty as well.

She'd hit anyone who said it, but she was scared out of her mind at every Reaping since Cassie's. After Cassie and then Kate — she was half convinced the Capitol was just… out to get their group, though she didn't see how. They were careful, and only Tommy got caught — and it was always about stupid stuff unrelated to what they were doing, like that time he caught half the Sentinel wing on fire. Somehow, somehow, Billy had managed to make a convincing argument that it was accidental, but still.

Twelve probably had the quietest stage presence out of any of the districts, too, because their escort, Ian Boothby, was painfully shy — why he wanted to be an escort in the first place was anyone's guess — and Black Bolt simply didn't speak, so the whole thing was short and sweet and practically right to the video.

America glanced over at the other kids on her 'team.' Eli had that locked jaw look he always got, like he was ready to bolt or punch someone; it was a tossup really. And Nate… Nate was Nate. It was a wonder he wasn't insane yet from boredom. His mind worked a thousand miles an hour, and he was stuck fixing the mines. That was the best they could give him.

But the knot of her three friends in the middle of the fifteen-year-old boys was ... it was both endearing and almost sad. Teddy was holding Billy's hand, and Tommy was leaning his chin on both of their shoulders at once with how close they were standing, just screaming his boredom with his whole body language.

That made five boys to watch out for this year, and since there weren't that many kids in Twelve, America had to admit the odds weren't in her favor even if she wasn't halfway convinced the people in charge just had it out for them.

So America almost wasn't surprised at all — though she was pissed about it — when Ian called out Teddy Altman's name as the boy tribute that year.

America stared fixedly at the tall, broad blonde who was slowly detaching from Billy. He'd been going out into the woods with America often enough, especially after Kate died, that she was pretty sure he could handle himself. He was strong, resourceful—

"I volunteer!"

"Dammit, Billy," America muttered under her breath as the scrawny, skinny, bookish, dark-haired boy ran out in front of his boyfriend like the idiot he was.

Ian looked surprised, since, well, no one had volunteered in Twelve in — actually, America was pretty sure that was it. No one had done it but Billy. Frikkin. Kaplan.

Teddy gaped at Billy, though America was almost proud of the kid when Billy's response was just to turn around and, right there, kiss the stuffing out of Teddy before he made his way up to the stage. Yeah. That was going to get played over and over again in the Capitol.

America ran a hand over her face, watching as Billy marched himself up to the stage and gave his name to Ian so Ian could properly announce him, and she let out a groan. Out of all the kids in their team, Billy was the least capable of making it out of the Games alive.

She glanced over at where Teddy was still standing shell-shocked in the middle of the aisle where Billy had left him. Eli and Nate looked crestfallen. And Tommy had, somehow, in the space of just the few minutes it had taken Billy to get to the stage and get introduced, gotten himself grabbed by two Sentinels as he was very clearly arguing with them about how, no, they had the wrong twin and he was the one who volunteered, stupid.

She swore under her breath again as she realized she just… wasn't equipped to go through this whole thing again. Three years of watching on the sidelines? Watching a third friend die and not being able to stop it? Yeah. She wasn't going to do that.

She shouldered her way through the crowd of girls with her hand raised, half glaring at Billy. "Yeah, me too. I volunteer," she called out, never looking away from Billy the whole time she made her way up so that, by the time they shook hands, he properly understood how mad she was at him.

"If you die, I'm gonna kill you," she told him low, and he gave her a nervous kind of smile.

Ian presented the two of them to the district with a clearly shocked expression on his face. One volunteer was groundbreaking, but two was… The guy looked like he needed to sit down.

And then, when the Sentinels thought they could separate America and Billy for the part where the families came to say goodbye, they were sadly mistaken.

"He's my best friend, so shove it," America said to the Sentinel who tried to direct her to the other room, literally pushing past the guy to plant herself in the corner of the room, arms crossed over her chest and more or less overseeing the whole scene as not only Teddy but both of Billy's parents were pretty much a blubbering mess. Besides, it wasn't like she'd have anyone coming for her. Her moms were long dead.

"You're going to try to get him out, aren't you?" Tommy asked as he joined her in the corner of the room, and she just nodded.

"Twelve's used to losing the girls from our group — they won't miss me either," America pointed out. "Billy should get married. Have a family. I sure won't."

Tommy tilted his head at her for a second before he wrapped her up in a warm hug. "Knock 'em dead. All of 'em."

She just smirked his way. "Yep. That's the plan."


	4. Notes from the Other Side

**Notes: *waves at Silz* HELLO! Yes, we love District Twelve to itty bitty pieces. Billy is darling, and America is unstoppable. They are going to bring it to these Games ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: "Notes From the Other Side"**

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _Jubilee and Noh-Varr's Apartment_

* * *

The final Reaping had Noh and Jubilee sharing looks. Two volunteers for Twelve. That had never _ever_ happened, and both of them were Kate's friends.

"This is going to be a tough year," Jubilee said very quietly.

Noh nodded just as quietly, the frown evident on his face. "Yes, it will be," he said simply after a long pause, his pencil still hovering over his sketchbook as he hadn't even started yet, not really.

Jubilee's sketchbook had little to do with her tribute — though the little cartoon Sabretooth at the edges with his eyes crossed and his tongue hanging out were amusing at least to her. She'd spent the last ten minutes erasing sections of his hair and drawing them back in as shaved — or dyed in a rainbow of colors, just … her way of trying to decide how to approach her new model. She glanced up at Noh and with a little smirk picked up a purple pencil and added a bruised jaw and a blacked out tooth just to see if he'd notice it.

It took Noh a moment, but when he glanced over at her doodle, he looked up to meet her gaze with a very, very dry look. "You are never going to let that go," he said, shaking his head.

"It was amazing. _Why_ would I want to let it go?" she asked before she erased one eye and made it into a blackened one.

He chuckled lightly before he finally got started on his own sketches. The stylists didn't know which of the tributes they'd get until they arrived — and they'd usually swap ideas with their district partners, and whoever came up with the best ideas would get that tribute.

But he had ideas for both of Kate's old friends, starting with the dark-haired and romantic young man. He needed something star-crossed, something fateful and lovetorn, and before he knew it, he was thinking of a certain galactic-themed dress another skinny dark-haired romantic had worn for Halloween, scribbling his sketch, adding a cape and a little more flair.

For America, he was thinking something to reflect the sassy red dress she'd worn as well. He'd noticed that she didn't look comfortable in it, so he went for a more comfortable look, though again, he found himself adding stars to his designs — Jubilee had inspired him.

Jubilee had started scribbling designs for the girl — the cool-headed, bossy blonde — but she couldn't come up with much that seemed to come off as feminine and tough _and_ Creed. And just about every time she'd get halfway through a sketch of the girls' profile, she'd wreck it with some comically large canine teeth and bushy eyebrows before she just blew her hair out of her face and decided to start on the young man.

The lanky brunette hadn't grown into his height yet — and he looked terribly thin — but he had a strong jawline and seemed on top of keeping himself neat and tidy. That would be a nice change of pace … The red tie he was wearing really did look good on him, too. "That one won't do well in yellow at all, darnit," Jubilee said to herself as she shook her head and instead hovered between red and blue.

Honey and GoGo had clearly already divvied up the tributes from Eight. Honey recognized little Gwen Stacey from the family interviews and had called dibs so fast it made GoGo's head spin. Honey already had ideas, wanting to reflect Peter Parker without making it too much of a callback. Lighter colors, more pinks, softer edges….

GoGo was fine with giving Honey the softer spider, though, because the boy from Eight was a _cinch_ to design for. He came with his own coat. His _own_ trench coat. She'd have to update it, of course, but why mess with the look? He rocked it. She just had to make it… moreso. Though she was having to wave off Fred's constant suggestions that it needed "more fire."

"I can add red, but _that's it_ ," GoGo said, pointing her finger threateningly his way.

"Red _eyes_ ," Fred said, so pleadingly that GoGo let out a sigh and tried it, just a quick sketch with her red pencil. It … actually wasn't that bad. Kind of striking.

"Fine."

Doreen, on the other hand, just sort of hovered by Jubilee, looking over her shoulder as she worked on a sketch for the boy from their district. "Can I take the girl again?" she asked. "You look like you have ideas, and I'm really bad at reinventing suits for the guys."

"Please," Jubilee said. "I really wanted to try a girl, but no matter what I do, it just … I can't stop picturing Creed in a dress, and although I know she's _got_ to have nicer legs than him … I just … I can't." She tapped her notebook with her pencil. "But I'd keep that long braid. It suits her well, I think."

"Oh, definitely," Doreen agreed with a flash of a smile. "I don't think I'll change much; she's already got a good look." With that, she started to scribble in her own sketchbook, a wide, toothy grin spreading over her face.

MJ, meanwhile, was in fits over the fact that Steve's best friend had volunteered, because she didn't want to repeat her designs, but she still wanted to reflect that friendship and that connection. She glanced over Noh's shoulder and tipped her head at the starry designs.

"Mind if I steal some of those?" she asked. "I think a star might be good for the star-spangled man's best friend."

"Perhaps just one," Noh said with a small smile. "I have a galaxy I'm working with, but a single star to represent a single friend's memory?"

MJ touched her finger to her nose and pointed at Noh. "You're a genius, Noh."

He shrugged modestly. "I try."

"I need a judgement call," Jubilee said as she tipped her sketchbook Noh's way. "Blue or red?"

He looked over the two sketches and pursed his lips. "I like them both," he admitted, pausing over them before he tapped the blue one. "This one is better suited for a parade, though — the red needs a larger stage for the full effect."

"Very true," she said before she gave him a quick kiss. "Thank you. I'll save red for his interview suit."

"Perfect," he agreed before he tipped his own book her way. "And in return, I must ask your opinion on my designs. I may have been inspired by you — just a bit," he said with an impish smile.

"Ooooh, I like the universe," she said with a little grin. "Yes. Good. He'll be fabulous — and that fabric is so comfortable. Almost like wearing nothing at all."

"And what about for the girl?" Noh pressed, grinning at the compliment. "I thought the reds would be appropriate."

"They are," she said, nodding as she looked over the sketch of the Twelve girl, with stars in her design as well and a short red ensemble that reflected her Reaping outfit. "Maybe give her more in the accessory department, though. Earrings would bring it together. Otherwise … I love it. She looks like she could wipe the floor with everyone."

"That is the idea," Noh said with a little smile. "We _do_ need to make an impact for the parade." He looked over the designs and let out a laugh. "I can't decide which I like better — do you think my partner would let me do both as a gift for my going away?"

"Are you kidding? She'd let you take over in a heartbeat," Jubilee said with a laugh. "She doesn't seem to care much at all anymore."

"No, she seems to be as disenchanted with the job as I am," Noh noted with a bit of a frown. "It's a shame that has extended to all her design work."

"She's been at it a lot longer than you, though," Jubilee pointed out. "And she was all but in love with the boy you had go through last year. She just wouldn't shut up about how clever he was."

"Wasn't so smart when it came down to it, though," MJ muttered.

"No," Jubilee agreed quietly, though she stopped short of adding that she'd wished that one of the guys that had gone to the end would have done him in. Banner had come so close.

"There's a lot of little ones this year," Wasabi pointed out as he returned from the kitchen with a fresh round of snacks for everyone to fuel their creativity.

"True," Doreen said. "And a lot of pretty substantial girls too, I'm glad to see."

"Yeah, last year was…." GoGo blew out a breath before she got a more impish smile. "This year's _much_ better."

"Yes, and this year, my girl can actually show her face," Doreen said with a little cringe.

"That'll help," Wasabi agreed with an encouraging nod. "No masks this year like yours or the guy from One, so… that's something, anyway."

"I swear to God, guys, some days I want to change districts," Doreen muttered.

"You can apply to my position if you want," Noh offered.

"I may just," she agreed, nodding her head. "Seven is a lot scarier than I thought it would be."

"Why do you think there was an opening?" GoGo muttered, shaking her head. "And then another one, like, a few years later? That guys scares off stylists like it's a game — which he probably thinks it is."

"He does," Jubilee said. "You just have to cut his ponytail off. That's what I did. He learned to respect the stylist after that."

Doreen just had to laugh at that. "That… that explains why he was so mad before the parade last year."

"He's a jerk," she said with a carefree shrug, though she was sure to turn Noh's way. "And if he tries to so much as look at me cross-eyed, I'll shove my scissors up his nose."

"I could do that for you so you could keep your job," Noh teased. "I already have a reputation, and besides, I'm on my way out."

"No, no. You've had enough probation," she said with a little smile. "Besides, they'd likely hold a parade if I did that."

"Ticker tape and the whole nine yards," GoGo agreed.

"See?" Doreen said. "Seven is scary."

"Even the adopted Sevens are scary," MJ teased Jubes' way.

"Well … after that supposed affair …" Doreen said with a little giggle.

"No, no," Noh said with a little smirk. "Now she belongs to Twelve. Or at least — for the next few weeks."

"I'm still keeping my Seven," Jubilee giggled as she gave Noh's arm a squeeze.

"Then I suppose I'll have to petition for entry into the scariest district group," he teased her.

"It'll be divine," she said with a giggle. "And we can just take bets on where you're going to clock Creed next."

"That's why he's allowed to be part of the scary group," GoGo laughed, and Honey just giggled and nodded her agreement.

Noh let out a sigh of pretended longsuffering, but it was clear he was just a little bit pleased with all the teasing. If he was going to have a reputation for violence, he didn't mind it so much if it was a reputation for violence against someone like Creed.

Jubilee laughed when she saw his expression and leaned over to snag a quick kiss. "What do you think — time for some dinner instead of just snacks? Pizza? Pancakes? What do you want?"

He smiled crookedly at her and returned the kiss. "Whatever you like, my darling Jubilee."

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

The kids in the Tahiti Wing still had a few hours before the staging run. Unlike what Cassie had told them about missions that the previous generation of Tahiti operatives had run during other Games, this year's operatives would be in the Capitol — all of them.

And while that meant things were getting serious — because Coulson and Hill were prepping them for the big push — it also meant that they didn't have to leave just yet, not until the big hullabaloo arrived in the Capitol to provide their distraction and cover, so they could all watch the Reapings.

And with Agent Van Helsing, not to mention Charles, at the helm of the Tahiti program, it wasn't like last year, when the Tahiti kids had been only able to catch bits and piece of the Games. Coulson had rigged up the monitors so that Tony didn't have to work around anything just to get the footage — it was readily available to all of them, and recorded so they could catch up on anything they missed.

At first, the kids weren't sure _why_ Coulson and Charles were so insistent on letting them watch all that death and destruction — beyond the simple fact that the two of them seemed determined to make sure that the Tahiti kids had access to any information they wanted or needed. And then Luke pointed out that they'd be working with half these kids in a few weeks — and also pointed out that they might know a few of them, like he'd known Ororo, before the Games themselves.

Of course, no one had expected that prediction to be so _accurate_.

The Career district Reapings, of course, went by without much comment from the gathered kids, who were more interested in talking about the big upcoming staging run than talking about the latest trained killers from the inner districts. The only one who offered any kind of commentary was Tony, who only spoke up to say something about how the kids that year were just wannabes from companies much smaller than Stark Industries — but for the most part, that was the only interesting part.

It was far more fun to talk about the immense danger ahead of them sneaking through the Capitol in the middle of the parade, when the next round of tributes would be seeing this whole setup for the first time.

That, they knew, was the only reason they weren't springing the revolution _now_ rather than later — there were twenty-four kids to consider, most of them untrained, and SHIELD knew for a fact that the Sentinels were trained to get the precious tributes away from any potential rescue efforts in a heartbeat ... or to simply kill them there anyway if it looked like the Capitol wasn't going to get their show.

So it was risky — and they all knew it.

But after the Reaping in Four, which was even harder to pay attention to than any of the ones before it because they could hardly hear anything over the storm, the kids finally started to pay a bit more attention, especially when the first non-Career name to be called was Steve's girlfriend.

The poor kid went through a bit of a rollercoaster after that — the shock of Peggy being called, the relief of someone else volunteering for her, the … whatever it was that had him actually swearing up a blue streak in little mutters at his best friend on the screen who was the second volunteer from Five, all while Ororo and Carol were on either side of him giving him a bit of a berth while he swore until he was through — and then both of them just tackled him in a hug.

"You have a potty mouth, Steve Rogers," Ororo teased him gently, trying to provoke a smile out of him as he just shook his head and muttered something about how Bucky was a punk.

By the time Steve had stopped grumbling and moved on to promises to find Coulson and make _sure_ his best friend was on the Tahiti list if he didn't win, it was someone else's turn to swear up a storm, though Sin was far louder about it and, frankly, more creative about the names she called Brock Rumlow for volunteering, though her grumpiness lasted for only a few minutes before she had moved on to assurance that he was going to win and annoyance that it meant he'd be on the other side of the program from her so she couldn't pound him for his stupid decisions.

And of course, most of the kids in the Tahiti Wing, when they saw the little girl from Six get carried onto the stage, were upset. But more interesting was the fact that Cassie just glanced over at Luke for a second before they just shared a nod in an unspoken agreement. Luke had looked out for her when she was the youngest. This little girl, clearly, had their protection in turn — both of them.

So by the time they got to Seven's Reapings, the tenor of the room had completely changed. Already two of them _knew_ the tributes involved, and they were only halfway through — though no one in the room was expecting a Creed to be called, of all people.

"That — that guy has no business having a sister," Kate whispered to Kurt with her nose scrunched the slightest bit.

"She doesn't seem to like him very much," Kurt whispered back as they watched Clara give Victor the brush off.

But that just got Kate to let out a sigh. "See, now I can't even feel vindictive about this, because that just means she's getting his stupid foisted on her. Which… isn't fair. She should be evil so I can be happy about this." She paused, then added, "Just means someone else is getting screwed for Creed's behavior. Again."

"Least this year Creed won't try and screw his tribute… you know. At all," Clint pointed out with his head tipped to one side as he frowned at the screen. "Looks like he might even try to… help. Which… is kinda freaking me out."

But when the boy tribute from Seven was called, Peter shushed all of them with a little frown, his head cocked back the slightest bit as he asked, carefully, "Guys… I think ... does Logan know that guy? Cuz he looks pissed right now."

"He never talked about anyone back home," Kurt said with a frown, though from the expression on his face, it was clear that he was seeing the same thing Peter was. "He has to, though …"

"Oh, I remember him," Jan said, leaning over the back of the couch so she could be a bit closer to the screen. She had her head tilted to one side as she studied the scene. "He came around the carving shed looking for a job back when I worked there. He liked the designs I could do for wooden pocket knives, so I showed him how to get the curl just right." She smiled softly and then shook her head. "But Logan was a cutter — I don't see where they'd have crossed paths."

Kurt, Kate, and Peter shared a look between them as they were clearly thinking it over, though it was Kurt who mused out loud, "I wonder if he has any family."

Jan shook her head. "Any kid who comes to the carving lodge for a job at that age? No way," she said with a little frown. "Unless something's changed in the last four years… he was at the orphanage up on the hill."

The awesomes glanced at each other at that, each of them thinking of the kids that they _knew_ stopped by Logan's home. "That ... would definitely tick Logan off," Kate muttered under her breath as the boys nodded.

It was a little strange as they watched the end of the Reaping in Seven to see that both Creed and Logan were wearing nearly identical expressions as the two tributes were led off for goodbyes, though by that time, the Reaping for Eight was starting up, so there was a lot of muttering in general as it was clear this year's Games was going to be very different than what they were used to — with so many people in play already with ties to the kids and their friends.

The Awesomes had their heads together while the usual prelude played, looking a bit more serious than they had been when they started watching as Kurt muttered quietly, "This doesn't feel like a random drawing."

"A Creed _and_ one of Logan's kids? Yeah. No kidding," Kate pointed out just as quietly, shaking her head.

"Well … maybe Seven wasn't random. But there's no way they could be picking out _all_ of them," Peter offered, though he was still frowning — and only seemed to be getting more fidgety as the Eight Reaping approached.

And there wasn't much they could say to argue that point, really, not since the other two _known_ tributes were volunteers — idiots, but idiots who had put _themselves_ in this situation and therefore not something they could blame Fury or Coulson for — so the little group fell silent through the boy's name all the way up until Gwen Stacey was called.

Peter froze.

The cute little blonde looked just as shocked as Peter did as she made her way up, though unlike when Steve's girlfriend had been drawn, there was no volunteer to bail Gwen out. Steve did shoot Peter a sympathetic look, but the little spider didn't even notice it, transfixed to the screen all the way up until Gwen was no longer there.

"'Scuse me," Peter said in a small voice as he got up and climbed off the couch, headed right for the hall. Both Kurt and Kate moved to follow him, but Jan reached over the back of the couch and took both of them by the collars of their shirts to pull them back, shaking her head slightly to keep them seated

"The way this is going, you really don't want to miss your own districts," Jan advised them over the sound of Peter all but kicking in the door to the training room, and they could hear the loud clatter of things being thrown - though Bruce had already seen Six's Reaping and just very quietly excused himself, closing the door to the rec room behind him to go speak to Peter — or at least keep him from hurting himself in addition to the training equipment.

It was a good thing Jan had stopped them, too, because the very next name to be reaped was Kitty Pryde — and in an instant, Kurt was on his feet without even thinking about it, his stance clearly ready for a fight.

"There is no way… _no_ way this is random chance," Kurt said through his teeth as he watched not only Kitty but his little sister on the screen — as the camera had followed Kitty's gaze to find her friends and family in the crowd, as it always did.

Amanda looked terrified for a moment — and ready to do something incredibly stupid, though the cameras missed whatever Kitty had said her way to get her to back down. And when the boy's name was called, Kurt's blood was rushing in his ears and he thought for a moment he hadn't heard right, because he saw another familiar blonde head in the crowd. It took him a full ten seconds to realize that the boy _beside_ Stefan was the one moving up to the stage.

Kurt felt the relief course through him for all of a few second before he thought that Peter might just have the right idea. Since the victors and SHIELD agents were all up in the Capitol for their Games duties, he couldn't give those more deserving of his wrath a piece of his mind — and he really, _really_ wanted to.

"Did they say his name was Summers?" Pepper asked, which was enough to break the thick feeling in the air as half the room turned to look at her. She waved one hand at the screen. "Summers — like the kid from Seven. Don't you think they look alike? How's that even possible if they're from different districts?"

"Hey, yeah, you're right, Pep," Tony said, nodding quickly as he pulled out his own tablet to start doing some cross-checking.

The distraction had been enough that Kate managed to snag Kurt and pull him onto the couch beside her and gently snuggle into him and kiss his cheek several times over as the Reaping for Ten played while Tony finished his check. It wasn't until Eleven was through — and both Luke and Ororo had confirmed that they didn't know the kids, though Mike thought they looked like 'schoolkids' from their uniform shoes — that Tony had found the adoption records for Alex.

"Oooh, yeah, these two — I doubt this is a coincidence," Tony muttered to himself as he read over what he'd found, though it wasn't until Wade prompted him to 'share with the rest of the class' that he looked up at the expectant faces around him. "Yeah, so ... these two? Their dad tried to instigate a rebellion in the outer districts. It didn't go well." He gave a little theatrical wince. "Fast forward through the part where the guy gets captured and killed by the royals to the part where they split up the kids and send 'em to different districts — and hey, let's keep an eye on the family of troublemakers while we're at it. Who'd've thought a thirteen-year-old could be on rebel records, huh?" he asked with an attempt at a teasing grin at some of the youngest members of the group.

"It's definitely not random then," Carol surmised with a frown.

"But SHIELD runs the Games, not Thanos, right?" Cassie pointed out, her own frown deepening at the thought.

"Wouldn't be surprised if Thanos made a few requests," Clint said with a light shrug that didn't match his tone.

"That wouldn't explain why ... I doubt he's interested in our friends and family," Steve argued, eyes narrowed. "And if he is — that's concerning too, right? The only thing we have in common is Tahiti."

"It's not Thanos," Natasha broke in calmly, and when the others glanced at her, she let out a sigh. "Maybe those boys are. _Maybe_. But not all of these names. He has bigger concerns in the outer districts than your _girlfriends_."

"Yeah? What do you know?" Sin asked with her arms crossed. "Or _think_ you know."

Natasha just raised an eyebrow at Sin. "You really think shooting Clint was the only mission I ran before I was part of this group?"

Sin tipped her head a bit Natasha's way. "Like crazy said earlier — why don't you share with the class?"

"Honestly, I can't tell you all of it," Natasha said, and she at least looked sincerely apologetic.

"Well how about some of it then, so we can maybe start to think you're not just blowing smoke, _super spy?_ "

Natasha took in a deep breath. "I recognize the name of Eleven's boy," she said. "His father was an informant — double agent. A much bigger fish." She shrugged lightly. "And to be honest, if I was going to go after someone in Eight or Nine, there are troublemakers like… well. Eight has a whole gallery of people angling for power, and plenty of them are Reaping age."

"So, then what _are_ the trouble spots for SHIELD in the outer districts?" Wade asked. "I just … kinda want to know where we're going to be headed. That's all. Really. And hoping that you and I get to go on a mission together." He waggled his eyebrows at her just to rile her. "You know we'd be unaliving people left and right, Mama Spider."

She gave him an icy glare for just a moment. "That is not my call sign," she said.

"Not _yet_ ," Wade said, pointing one finger at her.

She rolled her eyes and let out a breath. "I'm not sure what the trouble spots are for _SHIELD_ as opposed to the Capitol," she admitted. "The two are so entwined, and it's not like I was playing for the right team before. I just know where there are people drawing attention to themselves is all. And I know Thanos isn't above using their children to punish them."

"Pretty vague non-answer," Sin said dryly.

"But an honest one," Natasha shot back. "I won't make up an answer I don't know, not unless I'm _working_."

"She doesn't know anything," Sin whispered to Pepper.

"Shut up, Sin," both Hawkeyes said at once — though for distinctly different reasons. Clint because he couldn't just let that pass and Kate because the Reaping for Twelve had started, and the way things were going, she just _knew_ she and Cassie were about to see one of their old friends in trouble.

Sin glared at both of them, but seeing as the other kids were also on Kate's side — and ready to see if the last Reaping was just as suspicious as the previous ones — she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, though she did toss out, "Thought you were dating the blonde, not the redhead," toward Clint just for telling her to shut up.

"He is," Natasha said with a glare, though Kate shushed both of them again, waving a hand at them for quiet as the boy's name was called — and it was obvious from the almost identical way that Cassie and Kate's shoulders drooped that it was one of their group.

Though not a one of them had been expecting the way the Reapings wrapped up as a skinny little boy volunteered for Teddy — and Kate and Cassie shared a look and a groan a second before America volunteered. Both girls _knew_ it was coming the second Billy had stepped forward.

Jan was the one to turn off the screen as the mood in the room turned simply livid. She held up both hands in front of her as she faced the other Tahiti residents. "We don't have much time before the parade. Focus, guys. If you make a mistake on this one, you're risking a lot more than just the program," she said with a distinct frown — though it took another few minutes before anyone heeded her advice and finally moved out of the rec room.

* * *

 _July 1: Reaping Day_

 _Triskellion_

* * *

Unlike during the tour, Coulson hadn't been on the train for the Reapings, which meant Skye knew exactly where to find him.

She hardly waited to get to his office after the broadcast was over before she was pounding on his door, positively livid and ready to give him a piece of her mind for just how many of these kids had been reaped who had been her _second or third_ choices out of _two or three options_.

"I know what you're going to say, and I gotta cut you off before you get going — this was not what I finalized," Coulson said with both of his hands resting on his desk as he stood up to watch her rage.

She halfway stomped through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind her. "What the heck did you even _hire_ me for if you're not going to _listen to a word I say_?"

"I could have sworn I _just said_ that wasn't the list I finalized," Coulson repeated.

"Then what, exactly, is the point of _either of us_?" she shot back, glaring. "If no one's listening?"

"You know that's not the only reason we're here," Coulson replied. "And I'm going to get to the bottom of this as soon as I can get a hold of Fury."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Skye spit out. "Way to pass the buck, AC."

For the first time in a long time, Coulson looked honestly ticked off as he turned her way with a frown. "Do you really think that's what I'm doing here? Just … handing it off? _Really_?"

"Well, it — it sure feels like it," Skye said with her hands on her hips, though she'd lost a lot of her heat in pure surprise at Coulson actually looking _mad_.

"Do you have any idea how many ticked off operatives I'm going to have to try to explain exactly this to when I get down to the other side of the project? The whole point of _our job_ as far as the Reapings went was to look random — but half of our suggestions were totally replaced. I doubt that _any_ of the victors believe for half a second that this isn't entirely rigged at this point either." He took a moment to take a breath as he loosened up his tie a bit. "But the chances of anyone in the know or upset getting a hold of Fury —it would be a long shot. So _I_ have to take the heat for it."

"I just want to know why we even submitted names," Skye grumbled. "I mean — what."

"And I want to know why the hell we're still waiting," Coulson nearly hissed.

Skye watched Coulson for a moment with slightly widening eyes — she hadn't seen him get mad, and it was a sight to see. Finally, slowly, she let out all her breath and let her shoulders drop. "All I keep hearing when I ask that question is we're not ready. But I think if we just point the pissed off kids downstairs toward the problem…. Insta-win, right? Let's just… do it. And be done."

"We need the backing to get it done," Coulson said, finally settling down enough to take a seat. "The kids need more training. All of them. But in the meantime, we're going to be in the middle of putting new kids together when it finally happens, and that doesn't make me happy at all."

"That's kind of… counterproductive, isn't it?" Skye asked before she just shook her head. "Never mind. Forget I asked. I should have known better than to ask about SHIELD decision-making. Which is monumentally stupid."

"No kidding," Coulson agreed with a tight smirk before the two of them fell silent for a long moment. "There's going to be a lot of staging and possibly a few dry runs while the Games are in full swing, so I doubt you'll have your regular class to attend to," Coulson told her finally.

"Great. So… I'll just… fume in my room until you get me another couple dozen students, I guess."

"No," Coulson said, shaking his head. "You'll get a little time in the field, learning how to be a regular operative. May was telling me about the training you've been putting in."

"Her idea."

"I'm sure it is, but if you want to really help these kids — maybe you can fight alongside them."

Skye smirked the slightest bit at the idea as she seemed to consider it. "That… isn't a half bad idea, AC."

"We'll make sure you have all the coaching you need," he said. "Particularly while you're waiting for other things to do."

"Alright, then. Make me useful. By the time this thing kicks off, maybe I'll even get to be part of the fun," Skye said, the smirk widening until it became a full-on grin. She let out a long sigh before she reached over and punched Coulson lightly in the arm. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know it's not _your_ fault."

"I'm going to try to catch the big guy before he disappears into producer mode," Coulson said. "Eye on the prize, Skye."

"Good luck on your fishing trip," Skye said before she waved him off, and the two of them split ways — Coulson heading a little deeper into the Triskellion in search of the director.

But he wasn't the first to find Fury. That much was immediately clear when he reached the director and heard the near-snarls echoing the hall even through the closed door.

By the time he got to the office door, the loud protest had gathered a bit of a crowd, with Fury's timbre echoing right along with them until it all just fell silent for a moment and Coulson looked around the waiting area before he chanced it and knocked on the door.

Silence, after all, that could only mean they either calmed down — not likely — or the director was dead, and that was kind of something he needed to know about right away.

When he let himself inside, Both Logan and Creed whipped around to glance at him for a moment with identical expressions of rage on their faces. He closed the door behind him with a muted click and walked toward the three clearly angry men with his most neutral look.

"You both have jobs to do," Fury said in an almost consigned tone.

"Have the Runt do the run," Creed said at a growl — the volume down substantially, but the heat still easily heard. "He actually _wants_ that job."

" _He's_ got to keep up appearances," Fury said, and at that, both Logan and Creed shifted a bit in their stance, the idea clearly irritating to both of them.

"When we come back, we're gonna have words," Logan rumbled as Creed nodded his head in agreement.

"I'm sure you will. Go … do your jobs. I'll have missions for both of you during the course of the Games — and you are both going to be under strict scrutiny, so no screw ups," Fury said as the two victors from Seven shared a look and stormed out of the office past Coulson.

Coulson waited for only a few moments before he took the seat in front of Fury's desk. "I see I'm not the only one who knows who to look to for how the Reaping turned out today," he said mildly, though there was steel in his gaze.

"They have nothing to back it up," Fury said with a little wave. "And you knew what the plan was."

"There were a few more surprises this year — and not just the girl from One, before you say anything about her name not making the list. Not that the list mattered much this year," Coulson said, his gaze only hardening that much more.

"The list mattered plenty," Fury replied with one eyebrow raised. "You just didn't see the final draft."

"Why change it? The whole point of the list is to keep Cerebro's choices from giving away the fact that it's not random. I'd say the changes you made did the opposite, and I haven't even been down to Tahiti yet since the Reaping."

"If this is our last go-round, then I made the right decision to grab as many major assets as possible before everything starts up," Fury replied. "Every change I made is a good one for the _program_. For the success of our mission."

"That excuse might work for someone else, but you and I both know there's more to it than good assets. We can't get these _good assets_ trained up in time, not the way we want."

"They won't need to be perfect," Fury said. "There will be time for that later — and by the time we have them, the ones we have _now_ will be more than willing to stay on to train them."

"So this was a retention move," Coulson said with a frown.

"You sound surprised," Fury said as he leaned back in his chair. "We're putting a great deal of effort into assets on both sides of the Tahiti project. I don't want to see it go to waste."

"I was under the impression that was why you brought in Xavier — though it's also my understanding that his advice, and mine, apparently, doesn't extend to _your_ office, does it, _sir_?"

"You know I'm playing for the big picture, Phil," Fury said easily. "A picture that you apparently can't see all of yet."

"I just know there are easier, better ways," Coulson countered. "The little things still matter. The little _people_ , the kids, still matter."

"The kids are what makes this whole thing possible," Fury agreed. "And when we win this thing, you can do whatever you think they need to fix whatever wrongs you think they've been subjected to. But I can't worry too much about hurt feelings yet. Not when we have so much that needs to happen first."

"It's much easier not to worry about it when you're so far removed from it, sir," Coulson replied with a dry look. "Or would you like to go down to Tahiti for a few minutes?"

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but half of my black ops team wants my head already. Believe me. I'm not as removed as you think."

Coulson shook his head the slightest bit, though he couldn't help the smirk. "Ah, well. Consequences."

"Let me know if your operatives need a pep talk," Fury said.

"You offering, sir?" Coulson couldn't help but ask — the idea too much to resist.

"I can find the time to come shut down stupid questions," Fury replied.

"You and I have very different definitions of pep talks," Coulson said.

"How many times we gonna have _that_ discussion?"

"As many times as it takes you to admit I'm right, Nick," Coulson said, though this time he had a small smile, and the response was automatic.

Fury returned the sentiment with a little smirk. "Good luck with your team. Tell them whatever you need to in order to be sure they're focused enough to get their staging right. When we do this for real, they need to be ready. No mistakes."

"Good luck with your team too, sir. Hopefully they won't murder you," Coulson replied as he stood to leave.

"They have enough killing to get done over the next few weeks — I'll be surprised if they look human by the time the Games are over. I doubt either of them is going to sleep much."

"Then good luck with the sleep-deprived killers," Coulson said as he hit the door. "I'm sure that won't slow them down at all."

* * *

When Coulson did finally get to the Tahiti Wing, he almost wasn't surprised at all to find that pretty much the entirety of his kids were there waiting for him — and he definitely wasn't surprised to see that they were ticked off.

"That," Steve said, his arms crossed and a distinct glare on his face, "was _not_ a random lottery drawing."

"By any stretch of the imagination," Kurt added — and it was a mark of what kind of day Coulson was having that Kurt Wagner of all people was giving him _that_ murderous of a look.

"No, it really wasn't," Coulson said. "And I'm sorry that it turned out the way it did, but you can bet that whoever it is that doesn't make it through will be brought back quickly enough."

"They'd _better_ be," Peter said with what was almost the most intimidating look Coulson had seen from him.

"If it makes you feel any better, Fury's already gotten death threats."

"It would make me feel a lot better if _I_ was the one making them," Kate muttered.

"As good as," Coulson said with a little smirk. "What little I heard of it had some colorful suggestions of things being stuck places."

"Sounds like me," Kate said, almost unable to stop the smirk before she fell back into a glare. "But that still doesn't make up for… just because you bring them _back_ doesn't mean dying won't _suck._ "

"I had the very same argument myself," Coulson promised. "And I'm not any happier about it than you are."

"But you knew," Cassie broke in, very quietly, looking totally betrayed.

Coulson let out a weary sigh as he turned her way. "I did," he said with a nod. "And I did everything I could to change it."

The kids in the hallway stared at him, and it was obvious they weren't going to buy that line. "Uh-huh," Peter said, one eyebrow raised.

Coulson took a deep breath and looked around the room full of angry kids before he finally leveled with them. "There's no easy way to put it, and there's no way to sugarcoat what's been going on, but the fact of the matter is that every single person that we've brought back with Tahiti was already under surveillance not only by SHIELD, but by the palace as well. No one goes into the Games that hasn't drawn the wrong kind of attention to themselves — intentionally or not," he said frankly. "And Tahiti has made it possible for you to _live_. I hate to be the one to tell you, but had you all avoided the Games entirely, it's unlikely that you would have made it to adulthood." He watched them all for a moment to give them time to let it sink in.

"Right now, the Capitol gets to feel like it's winning — that they're over everyone's reach while the kids that draw their attention either go to die or end up much easier for the palace to keep watch over — and influence them in the 'right' direction to their liking. Our mission is to take that and turn it against them. So yes. I'm sorry that you had to find out that all of this is rigged. I'm more sorry that you were considered a threat to the Capitol beforehand when for the most part, you were just being normal, happy teenagers." He shook his head. "This whole thing sucks."

The kids all looked surprised at the frank information — and at the revelation that they had been marked for death no matter what. "What … what the heck did people like… people like _Kurt_ do? I mean, I get me and Cassie. We've been bloodying Sentinels' noses for _ages_... but…" Kate looked completely gobsmacked.

"He's an inspiring force of peace and common sense," Coulson replied frankly as he turned her way. "I'm sure you've figured out that common sense has little to no place in Marvel."

"I didn't realize they killed people for common sense," Peter grumbled, though it was clear he was disturbed by the revelation.

"Then you haven't paid attention at all to our president," Coulson said his way.

"That's not very good long-term planning, getting rid of the smart and strong like that," Steve frowned. "I know he's insane, but even he has to realize he's destroying his own country with bad decisions like that, doesn't he?"

Coulson let out a breath. "He doesn't see it that way, strangely enough. Anyone too smart, too strong, too much of a natural leader. They're seen as a threat to the royal family."

"Unless he can use them," Bruce said quietly.

"That's right," Coulson agreed. "And in those cases, he'll use them up until there's nothing left."

"So remind me again why we're not already at his doorstep. Why the heck're we waiting?" Clint asked.

"You want the honest answer?" Coulson asked. "Because I'm not sure I've been given that tidbit myself just yet."

"That _is_ the honest answer, then," Natasha pointed out, half leaned against the wall as she watched the entire proceedings.

"Then what's your honest _guess_?" Clint asked.

"That he was only half truthful when he said he wanted 'the kids' to be better trained," Coulson replied, his hands at his sides as he locked his gaze onto Clint.

"So… ignoring the part where we're 'the kids' — what's the other half?" Peter asked.

"That's just it," Coulson said. "I'm not sure you _are_ the kids he was referring to. Other than that — I think that's _most_ of the story."

"The victors," Kurt surmised with a frown.

"Yeah, I don't think that's it either," Coulson said. "The victors — all of them — have trained on their own since the time they won. Every last one of them is probably better trained than anyone here."

"Then who — the kids they just reaped?" Ororo asked with a bit of heat.

"No," Coulson said, shaking his head lightly. "Fury has his favorites. They get extra attention. Extra training. Personal involvement. Even when they don't always want it." He was sure not to let his gaze rest on Natasha, though he was certainly thinking of her.

The kids shared glances between themselves before Clint said, at last, "Doesn't sound like a list of favorites you want to be on."

"I'm still not entirely sure about that," Coulson said. "Usually, when he hand picks someone to work with, they're pretty exceptional. Even if they don't always share that outlook."

"And in the meantime, we'll be down here making sure the girl they carried up the steps doesn't totally melt down after she's murdered in those Games," Luke said with a deeply settled glare. "While Fury _plays favorites_."

"Believe me, I was pushing to move during the last victory tour," Coulson said. "I was overruled."

"That's just wrong. They can't overrule Van Helsing," Wade pointed out.

"Unfortunately, we need the massive troops that SHIELD commands to make the revolt work. Passionate as you all are — we need back-up."

In the silence that followed, it was clear that the kids were no longer ticked off at Coulson, but they also weren't happy at all about the state of things. "This better not be how it is when we start actually fighting the _war_ , because I'm telling you now, this kind of micromanagement does _not_ work for me," Kate said at last.

"That's not the first time I've heard — or said — as much," Coulson said. "As much as I'm tired of saying it ... for now, we have to just trust the system. At least until we break it."

"And then screw the system," Clint agreed, and the lot of them broke into grins.


	5. Drama for the Cameras

**Notes: Lol. Yeah, Silz, I can see how that would be your favorite paragraph. Sin is hilarious when she's deflecting how much she cares about that boy ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: "Drama for the Cameras"**

* * *

 _July 2: Parade Day_

 _Preparation Suites_

* * *

"Hey. Handsome. _Psssst!_ Hey!" Jubilee mock whisper-shouted into Twelve's suite with a bounce as only her head appeared in the door. "Go ahead and admit it. You totally need my help."

It was clear even from down the hall that Noh was having trouble with the girl from Twelve — and it was only clearer once Jubilee had opened the door to find that the bushy-headed girl had literally snatched the scissors away from Noh and thrown them across the room, one finger in his face as she was inches away from him. "No. Touching."

"America, please, I'm only going to trim—"

"You're not gonna pretty me up for these…. Keep your paws off, pretty boy!"

"Scott, go get those scissors, please," Jubilee said quietly as she pulled her tribute into the room with her. She waved America's way with her fingertips as she bounced up to them. "Hello."

America hardly acknowledged Jubilee, though she did glance over at Scott, who was pulling the scissors out of the wall. "You gonna let her boss you around?" she called out to him. "You gonna let a _Capitolite_ tell you what to do?"

"You gonna throw a tantrum before this thing even gets started?" Scott countered as he pulled the scissors out at last and gave America a dry look. "Not exactly a smart move if you want to get through the Games."

"Also — not our fault you're here," Jubilee said as she put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one foot. "I wish you weren't, to be honest. I'm beyond this crap, but that doesn't mean I'm going to give up on you guys looking better than the others going in." She gave America a raised eyebrow look as she blew a massive pink bubble.

"I don't want to get prettied up for entertainment," America insisted. "I'll fight, fine. But I'm _not_ dressing up."

"Fine. Then we'll make you uglier," Jubilee said with a shrug. "No skin off my nose. We can dress you up like Rocket if you want to go for stupid and ugly."

"She might like it," Scott said dryly. "She doesn't want the hair tamed."

"Lucky for her, I'm a pro with wild hair," Jubilee said, shooting a little smirk Scott's way. "Which reminds me... Noh, would you please make Scott gorgeous? I think he needs a more reasonable hair cut. Maybe bushy tail here won't cry so much if she sees someone else get their hair done first."

"Woah, hey," Scott said, holding both hands up. "That's not — we're not even supposed to be here."

"He's an expert," Jubilee said, pushing him toward Noh. "And … we have an agreement anyhow. Don't worry about it."

"If you have an agreement, why don't you point out to him that his stupid sketches aren't nearly showing off my best features?" America said as she rolled her eyes and tossed her hair.

"Your tribute is a baby and needs to have a say in her parade outfit," Jubilee said as she peeked over at the sketch. "What do _you_ think is your best feature?" Jubilee asked. "Because I'd go with your legs."

"I _told_ him the shorts need to be shorter," America said with a grin that stretched a bit further.

"So … short shorts and sneakers," Jubilee said before she cracked her gum, even going so far as to pick up a pencil and start sketching on Noh's drawing after she handed over the one she had for Scott.

"You can't just…" Scott looked between the two stylists with wide eyes.

"Oh hush," Jubilee said with a little wave as the two of them started comparing notes.

"I think I'm keeping yours, Seven," America called out to Scott.

"You'll have to take my mentor too — package deal," Scott teased back.

"Fine by me. I've been meaning to have words with both of 'em," America said with an easy shrug as, finally, she slid into the seat Noh had been trying to get her into. "Whatdya think, Glitter Queen?"

"I think you both get both of us, and if you want to talk to the mentors, swing on by," she said distractedly as Noh shook his head at her color selections.

"You really don't want to do that," Scott said with a frown America's way.

"I really do," America insisted. "Got a bone to pick with one, and the other ... unfinished business."

"You should both know — we have an unspoken agreement between Seven and Twelve," Jubilee said. "Feel free to go between the two. We do."

"Great." America grinned up at Jubes, tipped her head back to look at her upside down. "Knew I liked you."

Jubilee grinned brilliantly at her and offered her a piece of gum. "Of course you do. Only idiots don't like me."

Scott shook his head at both of them as Noh offered him a seat with a little shrug and a half chuckled out, "I find it's easier to just roll with it when this kind of thing happens," as he started on Scott's hair.

As Noh worked on Scott, Jubilee brought the sketch to America. "We're not totally agreeing on color, so … you get final pick." She glanced over at Scott. "Because I said so."

"It's because I didn't throw a tantrum, isn't it," Scott said her way.

"You act like that would stop me," Jubilee said. "You need to pay attention to how easy it is for me to get Logan to _shave_." She shot him a bright smile and turned back to America.

"Well, he _can't_ wear red tonight," America said at last after she'd examined the sketch. "That's Billy's color, and sorry, Seven, but you're not the brightest star. Wait 'til you see his cape."

"Oh, that's an old sketch," Jubilee replied. "I'm sticking to my signature colors with Scott. Mostly blue. Yellow accents."

"Good, because my partner's wearing a whole universe, and so help me—"

"Yes, I know. I love that fabric; it's amazing," Jubilee said, bouncing in place again.

"See? She likes my fashion decisions, just not for her. Typical," Noh said, shaking his head.

"You're just messing with perfection," America countered with a little smirk.

"I just have fond memories of that fabric," Jubilee said loftily before she tossed her hair.

America snorted at that. "So. When are you two announcing your engagement?" She waved between the two of them. "That's what the 'agreement' is, right?"

"Ah." Noh glanced at Jubilee and looked slightly purple. "First, we would have to be officially dating."

"We're launching a line together," Jubilee said as she straightened up a bit.

"Is _that_ what they're calling it in the Capitol?" Scott asked with an unmistakable smirk.

Jubilee looked to Scott with a look of false shock. "Oh. my. God! He has a sense of humor! Alert the presses!"

"Three hours," Scott said America's way with a look of longsuffering. "Three hours she's known me, and already, this is what I'm getting."

"It's alright, Seven. It was a good joke. I'm sure if you keep practicing you'll get better," America said with a straight face.

"Please," Scott said with the smirk still in place. "It's Scott."

"America," she said, leaning almost out of the chair to offer her hand. "No offense, but I hope you don't win."

"None taken," he replied.

"America was just telling me about her district partner before I so unwisely brought out my scissors," Noh prompted with a little smirk. "The one wearing your universe, my Jubilee."

"He is an adorable boy," Jubilee said. "Great smile. _Passion_."

"Yeah, you saw that kiss, right?" America grinned. "Those two're getting married after he gets home."

"I did; it was beautiful," Jubilee said with a grin to match hers. "They're an adorable couple."

"Don't you worry, America Chavez," Noh said with a smile of his own. "He'll dazzle the crowd this year. Those stars will literally sparkle — yours too if you want to be a matched set, present a show of unity. That _was_ what I was trying to get at earlier."

"Yeah, but you take so long to say anything, how was I supposed to get that?" America asked lazily.

"Ooooh, you could make the short shorts the universe. I'm sure that won't get any jokes about the universe in her _pants._ " Jubilee was giggling to herself.

"Well, seeing as it's _your_ universe, maybe that's not so bad," America teased with a wide, nearly obnoxious grin.

"It's really not," Jubilee shot right back with an obnoxious grin to match. "But my universe is full of fireworks."

"Sounds like fun. I like a little danger."

"Jubilee, _please_ stop flirting with my tribute," Noh said, shaking his head and looking a bit distressed.

"Oh, it's all in good fun," Jubilee said before she bopped over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "You're my favorite anyhow."

"This is the part where they start a line together," America said in a stage whisper Scott's way, and he broke into a huge smirk.

"Not with children in the room I hope," Scott said quietly.

America just laughed at that. "Alright, _chico_. You can stay."

"So. Why don't you let _me_ straighten your hair," Jubilee offered. "I probably won't bite … well. Like … 50/50. Let's be real."

"Do _not_ straighten it." America paused. "But you _can_ bite."

"Okay, so... Keep the curls, but tame the frizz," Jubilee offered. "Smooth it. Not straighten."

America tipped her chin up to look at Jubilee and then Noh. "What's it matter, anyway? I'm just playing muscle for Billy."

"So you look almost as good as your district partner," Jubilee said.

"Careful you don't let me outshine him," she teased, though it was obvious she was honestly serious about it.

"Well. I _could,_ but since you want to be sure to avoid that …"

"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding."

* * *

"See — _you_ look good, as always. Someone painted a whole flag on me," Brian said as he poked his head in to check on his sister.

"Well at least you're _covered_ ," Betsy replied as she tugged at the seams of her … um. Outfit. It was a purple leotard, more or less, specifically designed to show off as much of her as possible."This looks like a glorified bathing suit. And on what planet does a red sash go with my hair?"

"Um… maybe they were trying to match us?" Brian offered, since he knew there wasn't really a good response to that.

She just gave him a dry look and crossed her arms over her stomach. "I'm going to call this 'half-naked ninja couture'."

"Then mine is a fully-clothed eyesore." Brian gestured at the red, white, and blue he was wearing with a crooked smile.

She couldn't help but grin at him for that before she shook her head. " _Why_ did you volunteer?" It had to be the fiftieth time she'd asked him, but she kept asking — because she didn't like his answer.

"Because it was a Tuesday," he said with a shrug. The answer changed every time, because she kept asking it, and depending on how annoyed she was, the answers were getting more ridiculous.

"This is so stupid," she said as she came to sit down next to him. "What happened to the people that were _supposed_ to volunteer?"

"No idea," he said, with just a fleeting frown before he tipped his head her way and tried for a grin. "You scared them off, is what you did. Too dazzling. They knew they could never measure up."

"Shut up," she said with a smile she couldn't hide as she half-heartedly punched him in the shoulder. "Okay. So… did your stylist tell you what we're supposed to do... outside of just … stand there? Mine wouldn't shut up about … well. My career."

"Really? Mine didn't really talk much except to, you know, do _this_ to me." Brian gestured down at himself. "And I think he mentioned playing up the sibling bond. Would it be too weird if I let you ride on my shoulders like when we were kids?" he teased.

"In this outfit? Yes. Very, very weird, Brian."

"Then I guess I'll just have to have a chat with your stylist, because I was thinking of carrying you into the interviews princess style," he teased.

She took his arm and leaned on his shoulder. "You can't do that for the whole time we're here."

"Yeah? Watch me," he countered, with just enough of a serious tone that she knew he was only half joking around.

"Best brother ever," she said quietly.

* * *

Gwen actually liked her stylist, Honey Lemon. She was really sweet, and she'd been very patient and understanding when it had taken Gwen a few long minutes to adjust to… well. Everything.

And when Honey had presented her with an outfit trimmed with pink and spiderweb designs, Honey had been kind enough to give Gwen a full ten minutes to just sit outside and get a breath after Honey had explained that she had been Peter's stylist and wanted to give her something to remind people who she was and "to show people that horrible video was just… just _wrong_."

Honey had just finished curling the sides of her hair so that the blonde curls would frame her face just right when they got their five-minute warning, and at that, Honey wrapped her up in a hug. "You look amazing," she promised before she broke into a huge smile and dug in her large pink purse for her camera. " _Foto!_ "

Gwen blinked in surprise for only a moment after the flash went off, but she couldn't help but smile at Honey's enthusiasm as they headed down to where the chariots were — the other tributes filing in as well, with stylists making last-minute adjustments until they too had to go take their seats.

"Well, it seems dere ain't no use holdin' de parade if you gon' outshine us like dat, _petit_ ," her district partner called out with a little grin, his long coat flowing out behind him.

Gwen turned his way with her nose wrinkled up a little bit. "Does that ever work?" she asked. "The extreme flattery thing."

"Sometimes," he said, though he didn't seem too bothered. "But de more important ting here is dat a pretty girl ain't never passed Remy by who didn't know she _mignon_."

"Alright then," she said. "And … you … look nice too."

He grinned at her and reached into his pocket to pull out what looked like three ID cards, twisting them between his pink-lined fingers. " _Merci_."

"What are you doing with those?" she asked in a scandalized whisper.

"You want one, _petit_?" he offered. "You can get beyond de suites dey givin' us to use."

"No! I … you're going to get into so much trouble!" She forcibly closed his hands up over the stolen ID cards and stepped up a little bit closer. "You need to get rid of those."

"Don't you worry none, _cher_. Ain't nobody caught Remy yet. Dey ain't gon' find dese on me. But dey sure useful trinkets. You sure you don' want 'em?"

"You're crazy," she said, shaking her head lightly. "No. I do not _want them._ And I don't want you getting in trouble over them either. You do know they're watching our every move, right?"

With a little grin and a flourish, Remy put his hand in his pocket and came back out with a pack of cards, which seemed to be just about the right size for hiding ID cards. He shuffled them in the air and then offered her an ace. "What's de matter, _petit_? You never seen a magic trick before?"

"I'm more of a scientist," she said with a raised eyebrow. "I don't believe in little sleight of hand tricks. Thanks."

"Life's no fun witout a bit of magic," he said with a little chuckle.

"Says the thief," she said with a little laugh of her own. "I bet you can't make it all the way back to the suite without pickpocketing someone."

He looked almost shocked for a moment before a sly sort of grin spread over his face. "Oh, now you gon' have to make dat a lil' more interestin'."

She chuckled a little bit. "Yeah? What kind of 'interesting' are you thinking?"

"You gotta have stakes if you gon' bet, Miss Stacy," he said, the grin only widening.

She arched one eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well I don't have anything to bet, and I'm not stealing anything just to entertain you."

"Well now you're just takin' all de fun outta dis," he said with a laugh. He thought it over for a minute and then grinned. "How 'bout all de trinkets in ol' Remy's pockets 'gainst a kiss?"

"So predictable," she said with a sigh.

"You been offered baubles for your kisses, _cher_? 'Cause if so, you been hangin' wit de wrong crowd."

She let out a sound of disbelief. "No! I have not. Done that. But that's kind of what you're doing. How about … instead of the stuff you've stolen, you have to not steal anything else while you're here?"

"You still gotta put up stakes for when Remy wins de bet," he pointed out.

"You're not going to win," she said with a smirk. "But if you want to 'win' a kiss, I can safely say that's the only way you're going to get one."

Remy grinned at her before he stuck out his hand. "Deal."

She smirked up at him as she took his hand. "Hope you like losing."

"Ain't never happened to me yet."

* * *

"So… are you the reason they put a big blue thing on my chest, because if so, I'm going to have to ask you not to do that to me anymore," Alex muttered to Kitty as they climbed into the chariot and he looked over the puffy blue outfit she was wearing.

"You can blame it on me if you want to," Kitty said as she rearranged the sash around her waist. "But I don't think you could pull off the sleeves."

"Yeah, no thank you," he said, shaking his head and pulling a bit of a face, though his comment about how it wasn't his style was a bit drowned out as Tivan's booming voice filled the area announcing the start of the parade and the music started up.

"Here we go. Don't fall off, Alex," Kitty said with a teasing little smirk.

"More worried about you — with those sleeves catching the wind for you," he shot right back.

They were far enough back in Nine's chariot that the only thing they could see of the parade was the huge screen up ahead of them, behind the large stage raised up above everyone else where eventually the president himself would address them. But they almost didn't have to see anything from how the excited commentary was bouncing back and forth between Tivan and Uatu.

"Ooh, and first out of the gate is a _major_ fashion misstep for One's stylist team. That firebrand red with the purple he's wearing? What _were_ they thinking?" Tivan led out, horribly wincing, though before Uatu could offer a word of agreement, the fiery red outfit Jean was wearing lived up to its name and literally caught fire in a pattern that flowed out behind her like folded wings, to the awe of the gathered crowd, who fell into silence for only a moment before bursting into applause.

"Now _that_ is how you start a parade!" Uatu declared as Tivan just cackled delightedly.

"Well, we can go home now, right? That's all they'll remember?" Alex muttered to Kitty, plucking at his outfit. "I can take this off now?"

"Hush, we have to get through everyone," Kitty said as she tried to compose herself. "Besides, they're falling over the girl in Two now. One minute, purple is a mistake — now, it's all the rage for all of thirty seconds. Stupid Capitol."

Sure enough, Tivan and Uatu were making a huge fuss over Betsy Braddock and her familiar face … "Of course, we've seen this young lady in advertisements for _years_."

"But never with the matched set," Tivan added.

"And what a loss at that — such a lovely family," Uatu said. "What a shame that only one of them can come out."

"Yes, well, we'll just have to see who the odds favor the most. But I know I certainly have my favorite."

"And here comes Three now, with… oh. Really? What _is_ it with Three and masks? Last year it was helmets, this year… come now.."

"It's just too hard to follow Two this year," Tivan chuckled.

"Clearly," Uatu had to agree, chuckling a bit at the incredibly enthusiastic wave Trevor was doing, while his partner was just glaring with her arms crossed — that much was obvious even with the golden mask, which was itself fashioned into a glare. "Such an opposite pair, too."

"Yes, the young man seems born for the cameras, doesn't he?" Tivan said in a delighted tone. "He adores the crowd. What a lovely change of pace."

"Yes, but would you look at Four," Uatu said in a smooth transition as Four's chariot, complete with two dramatic, cape-wearing tributes pulled in. "The crowd adores _them_."

"Or more appropriately: her," Tivan corrected his partner. "She does cast quite the spell."

"Yes, incredibly enchanting," Uatu agreed. "Though Four seems to inspire that kind of pageantry.

"And another volunteer on a mission of honor for their partner, as I understand it. What _do_ they teach those warriors there?"

But the real gushing began in earnest when Five's chariot pulled up, and Tivan cut Uatu off before he could make any comment about Four's dramaticisms. "Ah — and _here_ is an interesting pair. This would have been last year's if not for two volunteers, and now they are passing the tradition — do you think we'll see the ones they rescued back next year?"

"It would be an interesting turn of events," Uatu said with a nod. "I'm just not so sure that it's the kind of tradition that can be relied on — even if we were missing our Two volunteer for the girls."

"No, but it _is_ quite the story, isn't it? Look at how Mary Jane Watson has highlighted last year's tribute, Steve Rogers, in this year's costume."

"Simply riveting," he agreed. "An amazing echo of the past, tastefully done, of course."

"Do you think the comparison will help or hurt James Barnes this year? After all, his predecessor _was_ in the final fight. That's quite the legacy to be calling on this early in the game."

"I seem to recall this young man being close to the runner up last year," Uatu said. "So perhaps we can hope …"

"Ah, but sequels, Uatu. They're so rarely…. Well. We'll just have to see," Tivan said, clearly moving on as Six's chariot approached.

"It's always so hard to see the little ones," Uatu lamented. "She looks so scared."

"Yes, her stylist certainly did her best, but clothes are only part of the parade," Tivan said with a little tut before he seemed to take a breath and attempt to give her a chance. "But to be so little next to such an intimidating partner — maybe she'll do better in the one-on-one interviews."

"Six must have a thing for creeps," Kitty said to Alex as she watched the screens overhead.

"Must be something in the water," Alex muttered, frowning hard.

"Glad there's nothing like that in the water back home," Kitty muttered.

"I dunno. I think I could use a little of whatever…" Alex gestured at himself. "You know. Think it'd put another twenty pounds of muscle on me?"

"No," she replied with a thoughtful look. "But maybe if you carried more than the minimum in the field, you could have bulked up."

He just gaped at her for a second before he shook his head. "Low blow, Pryde."

"Not my fault you're built so … sinewy."

"Genetics," Alex said, waving it off.

"Got proof to back that up?" Kitty asked.

"Ah, no. Not really," Alex admitted with a little grin as the screen lit up with Seven's chariot and its occupants, and Uatu and Tivan immediately launched into their excited babble over Seven's continued use of yellows and blues and the "legacy" tribute that was Clara Creed — in a fur-trimmed union suit that it was clear she hated.

Clara had her head held high, though she managed to pull off a far more dignified look than her big brother could ever hope for, and when it was clear that she could hear what the announcers were saying, she turned to her district partner and didn't ask before she took a hold of his arm.

"Well here's one legacy who won't have to worry about distinguishing herself from her predecessor," Tivan said with almost a chuckle. "I doubt Victor Creed would pull something like that."

"I don't think a softer, gentler image quite fits the legacy," Uatu laughed outright. "And it's certainly not what we're all hoping to see: a third victor from Seven with that killer instinct."

"It might be too much to hope for," Tivan finished for his partner, shaking his head.

"I doubt Seven will be much to watch this year," Uatu said, sounding perfectly disappointed that Clara wasn't measuring up to their expectations.

"But what about Eight this year?" Tivan asked in a clearly dismissive move for Seven.

"Such a lively pair," Uatu agreed. "Interesting choice of accent color on the pair of them."

"But look at the pattern for the girl," Tivan said, his tone clearly delighted as he realized what Honey had done.

"Oh, yes — lovely call back — such a fun trend for the Quarter Quell!"

"But it is nice to have such a breath of fresh air for the boy, and from this year's newest stylist, too. Just look at the gloves under the light — it looks like Eight's young man is glowing!"

"It's not quite the light show from One, but it works for accent color, somehow."

But the tone shifted as the Nine chariot came out next. "And now we're up for quite the treat," Tivan said with a grin that showed the gold tooth near the back of his mouth. "The lost brother. So compelling. So exciting!"

"...that's not my Games name. They can't give me that, can they?" Alex asked Kitty with a confused frown as their chariot moved forward.

Kitty tried to peek around Eight's chariot to see the tribute from Seven. "Well. I hope not," she said. "But … you are built like Seven. A lot."

Alex frowned and copied Kitty's movements, trying to spot Seven's boy even as the chariot was moving — and the camera followed his every movement before the screen split to show the dawning comprehension on the older Summers boy's face.

"Oh my God, Alex," Kitty half-whispered.

"You might recall last year we had a set of brothers, but this year — this year is the genuine article," Tivan said gleefully. "Separated over a decade ago, and, as I understand it, sent to different districts after their parents died. But genetics don't lie — you can't deny the family resemblance here!"

"They certainly do share a striking resemblance — aside from coloring, of course," Uatu agreed.

Alex just stared up at the screen for a moment as it was clear Scott's district partner was all but pinning him to keep him on the chariot so he wouldn't try to do something stupid like try to get to Alex, and then he took his gaze from the screen to finally lean over and try to see Scott for himself — with Kitty half keeping _him_ from falling out — to lock eyes with the boy two chariots over.

The truth of the matter was that Alex didn't really have much of a memory of his family before he ended up in Nine. He had vague memories, just fleeting things. He could remember making a snowman in snow that was so tall he couldn't see over it so his mom had to carry him. And he could remember one year on his birthday breaking his brand new toy and crying until his brother gave him his. But these were just… snippets. About as solid as trying to remember a dream, and half the time, he wasn't even sure if they were real or if he was just trying to imagine that family he used to have.

But it was clear that Scott remembered him — he could see his brother's mouth forming his name, though the word itself was drowned out by Tivan and Uatu continuing to gleefully cackle over the very public, raw emotion clear on both of their faces.

But the boys were pulled out of their daze by their district partners, who seemed to realize that the two of them needed to get the focus _off_ of themselves. Alex didn't know what Clara hissed in Scott's ear, but Kitty was way more direct and simply grabbed Alex by the collar and hauled him more securely into the chariot with a muttered, "Get it together, Alex."

As it was, District Ten was more or less plowed over by the drama going down, with only a passing mention of the wild 'industrial' look that the stylists had gone for that accented the high cheekbones and cold glares on both tributes before Uatu and Tivan finally got tired of their gleeful reunion scene and dove into the tributes from Eleven.

"Such a striking young lady!" Uatu exclaimed when the camera zoomed in on Monet.

She was pulling off a good fake out job with her chin held high and her posture perfect. Though that just made Miles' slightly nervous stance that much clearer as he tugged at the color of the black, red, and silver ensemble glistening with web-like threads.

"Oooh, another call-back," Tivan whispered. "And this one with no family ties or any other link to the original Spider-man. An interesting choice."

"One he'll be hard-pressed to live up to. He looks almost as scared as Six's girl," Uatu noted with a small frown evident even in his voice.

"Well, if they team up, there won't be much for them to do but hide and hope for the best, then," Tivan said with a little chuckle. "Wouldn't that be entertaining? All the scared little ones banding together to try to _hide._ "

The screen was already moving on from Eleven to Twelve, and it was clear that even though the announcers weren't paying attention to Twelve yet, the girl from the district was paying attention to their commentary, as she came out with both middle fingers raised and a glare as the little boy next to her was tugging on her arm trying to get her to stop.

"Well," Uatu said when he noticed it. "Clearly, manners don't extend far out into the districts."

"Clearly," Tivan had to agree, though he cleared his throat as he moved on to talking about Billy's universe instead of America's continued glare — up until the chariot did a sweeping turn that showed off their full costumes, and both commentators found a whole new train of comments.

"I don't think I've seen Twelve go so… short for their styles," Uatu said.

"Perhaps her stylist is trying to distract from his … issues as of late," Tivan muttered — though his annunciation was perfect. "Using a child. _Tsk._ "

"If he is, it's an effective distraction. How old do you think she is?"

"If my notes are correct, Miss Chavez is ... a tender sixteen. Scandalous."

By the time the two of them were finished tutting over America's age in relation to her curves, the chariots had all stopped in front of the stage so that Thanos could welcome them all to the Quarter Quell in usual short sentences, more intent on looking over this year's crop than anything else.

The mentors on the sidelines had all watched the parade with varying levels of interest, though at Miss America's entrance, Logan had to chuckle to himself, even if some of the more 'reasonable' mentors were a bit insulted at her display.

"She should at least keep that kind of attitude private," Sue said with a little frown.

"I like it," Logan replied, though he didn't take his gaze off of the girl as he shook his head slowly. "Kid's got guts."

As the president finished his remarks and the chariots began to move again, the group of mentors went to claim their tributes and usher them back to the suites. Logan didn't even bother trying to grab Scott, though — as Scott was already headed right for his brother to tackle him in a hug that took the much younger boy by surprise. Instead, Logan stood back and waited for them to finish up — or for Drax to send Scott on his way.

He didn't have to wait long, either, because Drax bodily blocked him from following them up in the elevator, though it was obvious Scott wanted to stick with them and ... not ever let Alex out of his sights again, even if the younger boy still looked half in shock, clearly unsure what to do with the sudden brother trying to look out for him.

When Logan walked up to Scott, he rested his hand on Scott's shoulder very lightly. "Come on, he's not telling you no — he's saying not in front of the cameras," Logan told him. "I'll show you how to get to Nine without all that noise." He paused and gave Scott a second to let it soak in. "If you want."

Scott finally turned from watching the Nine group to give Logan probably one of the most open looks he'd ever seen from the kid. "Alright," he said with a single nod.

"Drax has a soft spot for family, but he's tight to the rules. Get around them, and you'll be fine."

Scott blinked at him for a second, clearly listening but also sure 'break the rules' wasn't good advice.

"When the rules suck, you gotta work around 'em a little. Not break 'em."

'"Just… show me a path that doesn't hit the cameras. I'll figure it out," Scott said at last.

"That's all I was gonna do," Logan promised as the two of them headed off. They barely got into the elevator before Clara slipped in with them and waved with her fingers at her brother as the doors closed.

Logan looked her up and down quickly and had to shake his head. "Can't wait to get away from him?" When she raised an eyebrow his way, he let out a little breath. "You're welcome to stick with us if you like. Not too damn much you guys can possibly learn before you go in that'll help you."

"That's reassuring," Scott said with his arms crossed.

"I'm not trying to lie to you," Logan said. "But the most I've seen happen that's any help at all is whatever _you_ choose to push in training — and with that, I don't know if I can help you with it anyhow. It's more likely to get you overconfident in something and have it bite you in the ass. And I don't want to see that happen to you."

"So what _do_ you do, exactly?" Scott asked. "If we're not learning anything here — what's the point?"

"Directly for you? I have no idea," Logan admitted. "Try to keep you away from the creeps ... but you don't need me for that. Get to know you a little better so I can talk people into sponsoring you mainly. I guess that's about it. Not like my mentor was worth the air he's wasting."

Scott had to smirk at that. "So none of us know what we're doing here."

"When you start training, they'll try to get you into the more flashy stations. Everyone thinks they need a sword or something. Find something that works for _you_ , and use it to make yourself better at what you already know. If you want a few tricks they won't show you in training, I can show you after hours, but … I don't know that you need or want any strategizing advice."

The smirk widened a bit as Scott gestured at himself. "Yeah, I'm not exactly built for fencing," he pointed out. "I'll figure it out." He glanced up at Clara. "What about you?"

"Me?" she said, looking between the two of them for a moment. "We always fought. I'll be fine with hand-to-hand or a blunt instrument."

"Alright, I'll take knives then so we've got _something_ sharp," Scott decided, and Logan could practically see gears turning in his head.

"I'll do everything I can for you," Logan told him.

"Don't worry about it," Scott said with a shrug. "I think we can handle it."

"I think so too, but it's still what I'm here for."

"Well, if you can manage any sponsors, that would be a bonus, yeah," Scott said. "Wonder what we'll have for food and drink…" He started to fall into clearly planning it out in his head, not really paying the other two much heed for a bit as he did.

"I'll get you sponsors. One way or another. Though it shouldn't be too hard for me this year," Logan said. "If that's what you're concerned with, pay close attention to what kind of things they have at the station for that. It'll be a tip off as to what you might find out there."

Scott glanced down at him for a moment. "Yeah, okay. Makes sense," he said with a thoughtful look. "Too many plants to go through all at once… but they won't make it too easy." He glanced at Clara. "Hey ... you mind if we add to the group? My brother ... well. I don't know what he can bring, but I'm bringing _him_."

"More the merrier, right?" Clara said.

"Great," Scott said in a tone that told the other two he was going to do it regardless of what Clara had said.

Clara looked over at Logan for a moment. "You have a problem with our picking alliances out?"

Logan shook his head. "Nope. Pick who you think you can trust and who you think you can work with."

"So none of the Careers then, or the kids from Ten," Scott surmised, though he was still smirking a bit.

"Probably a safe bet," Logan agreed.

The elevator hit the seventh floor, and the doors opened, but before they got out, Scott made it a point to pull Logan aside for a second. "Nine?" he asked under his breath.

"Yep, come on," Logan said with a nod before he turned to Clara for a second. "See you in a few." With that, he led the way for Scott, quietly mentioning where the cameras were as they went to the stairwell — though even there, Scott was surprised at the number of cameras — and where their dead spots were. "Stick to the wall on your left," Logan said very low and quiet. "You'll be out of the line of sight until you have to cross the hall to get through the door. No way to avoid that one unless you want me to loop it for you."

"No, that's ... fine," Scott told him with a nod. "They're probably expecting me to show up here anyway."

"Very likely," Logan agreed. "Good luck. I'll probably be on the roof later if you want to think out loud." With that, he just headed back down to give the kids at least some semblance of privacy.


	6. Sevens and Twelves

**Chapter 6: "Sevens and Twelves"**

* * *

 _July 2_

 _District Six Suite_

* * *

Kamala was laid out on the floor of her suite room, already changed out of the parade outfit. She had her feet up behind her and her chin in her hands, _trying_ to watch the television Darcy had shown her how to use so that she couldn't hear her mentor _loudly_ talking about how _great_ his tribute was this year.

Tribute — _singular_.

It wasn't like she expected much from the Red Skull ... it was just kind of totally intimidating when he would start giving Brock detailed tips on how to kill people, and she was really very sure he was giving him tips on how to kill _Kamala_ because of the way he was talking about height, build ... yeah. That kind of thing.

Plus, there was a lot of talk about not being 'slowed down' by the other kids, and basically, Kamala wasn't _hiding_ , she was just… using the TV and not actually sitting on the bed but behind it. Not _hiding..._ just using her surroundings. That was totally what was happening here.

She popped her head up when the door opened, but instead of her district partner or her mentor, it was Darcy, the escort, who only took about ten seconds to spot Kamala and shake her head as she closed the door behind her.

"You know ... you don't have to stay in here all the time. There's a den on the ground floor, and you can get to the roof as long as you don't royally piss of Black Bolt."

Kamala tipped her head at Darcy for a moment. "Yeah, but I don't really know where… anything is, actually," she admitted.

"Well, why don't we head _up_ to start," Darcy suggested. "You kinda look like you could use some fresh air."

"Probably," Kamala admitted, letting Darcy lead her out past Schmidt and Brock, who had now moved on to the best ways to break a neck that had Kamala shuddering. "I wish they'd stop," she whispered to Darcy as they hit the hallway.

"Yeah, fat chance of that happening," Darcy said dryly. "He does this every year. It's disturbing."

"Is that why you know how to get to the roof?" Kamala couldn't help but smile as she asked it.

"It's actually my _job_ to know how to get everywhere around here?" Darcy said. "But I end up on the roof every year with _every_ girl tribute that goes through —including his very own daughter, who more or less got the same treatment you have."

"So he's just stupid. He's not actively trying to kill me?"

"Oh, he's actively trying to kill you, _and_ he's a stupid _ass_." She held a door open for her. "This way."

Kamala followed Darcy through, but she was still frowning. "He's my mentor, though. He's supposed to help, right?"

"Don't say that too loudly around him," Darcy advised. "He's _supposed_ to. He never really does, though. You wouldn't believe how crappy he treated his own kid last year."

"Someone should give him what-for," Kamala said with a little heat before she wavered a bit and wrapped her arms around herself at the elbows. "You know… someone he's not, um, actively trying to kill. Like I need a mentor trying to do that _plus_ all the other kids."

"If it makes you feel any better, your mentor can't actually hurt you," Darcy promised.

"It sure feels like he wants to," Kamala countered. "I think he's mad because I screwed up the parade being, you know. Little? And no one really talked about Brock."

"Honey, he'd be mad if they had Brock in a spotlight the whole time," Darcy said with a wave. "He doesn't know how to be nice or reasonable _at all._ "

"So, how'd you get stuck with him?" Kamala asked curiously as they reached the roof. "You're not nearly mean enough."

"Just bad luck," she replied before they came to a quick stop at seeing that the roof wasn't vacant.

"Marcy, right?" Logan said, watching both of them as the door closed behind them.

"Darcy, actually."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, born that way," Darcy replied before she reached over to where Kamala was half-hiding behind her and draped her arm around her tribute. "Mind sharing the rooftop?"

"Red Skull being an ass again?" Logan asked.

"Always," Darcy nodded, and Kamala just sort of stared between the two of them.

"My offer stands," Logan replied before he gestured to the open space. "And it's plenty big enough for more than just us."

"What offer?" Kamala couldn't help but ask, watching her escort and the newest victor wide-eyed.

"I offered to chuck him off the roof last year," Logan said with a little smirk. "No takers."

"Oh, could you?" Kamala asked before she pressed a hand over her mouth. "I mean… you really shouldn't, but he —he shouldn't be a mentor. At all." She glanced around the roof before she added in a whisper, " _Ever_."

"There seems to be a collection of those," Logan agreed with a nod. "Come on over. Clara and I were just bitching about her brother."

"Oh. Um." Kamala glanced back at Darcy, but when her escort seemed to be content to just head back out the door, she sighed. "Okay. That sounds…okay."

When she took a seat, Clara introduced herself about a half a second after Logan did. "I didn't catch your name," the little blonde said with an encouraging smile.

"Oh! I'm Kamala Khan," she said, trying for her own little shy smile. "I guess I didn't make a big impression."

"It's not that," Logan assured her. "We didn't watch the Reapings."

"Well, _that's_ a relief," Kamala said as she let out her breath all at once. "That was… that was really —it's not gonna help me at _all_."

"Don't worry about that," Logan told her. "You'll get help in there one way or another."

"Hello, have you _met_ my mentor?" she asked with one eyebrow raised. "If I get something from him it'll be, like, a bottle of wolf pheromones so I die faster from big ol' mutt-wolves or something."

"Who says it'd be from him?" Logan asked.

"Um. The rules," Kamala said quietly, as she sat on her hands, but Logan leaned forward with a troublemaking smirk.

"The rules don't say a word about anyone else _not_ helping you," he said in a quiet rumble. "It's just strongly weighted that way. It'd probably just cost more, as far as I can figure."

"Oh!" Kamala's eyes widened as she realized what he was saying, and then she started to shake her head. "Oh, no, no —no, you —you have two tributes, and _her_ brother's a jerk, so you should work on them—"

"I have people tripping over themselves already to 'help'," Logan told her. "And others whining that I'm in the wrong district. Don't worry about it."

"No, but really —really, you shouldn't waste your money on me."

"I'm not," he said.

She laughed quietly and rubbed the back of her neck. "It's okay. I know I'm bloodbath bait. That's what my mentor said."

"You so aren't," Clara said with a shake of her head. "No way."

"Um, don't know if you've noticed, but I don't really look like —well, you?" Kamala gestured at Clara and then herself.

Logan and Clara shared a look before Clara told her what she thought. "My brother has made me watch for years. I can spot a bloodbath death, and you? Are not it. You're smart enough to run when the bell rings instead of going for the bait. You just need a team." Logan was nodding his head in agreement as the two of them watched her.

"I _so_ can't team up with my district partner," Kamala pointed out.

"Why would you want to? Guy's a psycho," Logan said. "Look outside your district. Make friends."

Kamala glanced between them. "D'you think … I'm a fast runner, and I'm good at hiding, and I'm actually pretty good at things like poisons, well, identifying them anyway, and…." she started to pick up speed as she tried to list off things that she could bring to an alliance.

"I like her," Clara said to Logan in a stage whisper that was absolutely meant for Kamala, and the smaller girl blushed when she saw the way the two of them were watching her. "And Scott already pulled in Alex —or he wants to."

"Fine by me —it's your group," Logan said before he turne to Kamala. "Try a few things out in training, and if you want to skip hand to hand, I'll work with you up here myself."

"Would you _really_?" Kamala blurted out, then clapped both hands over her mouth. "Sorry. That was loud."

Logan smirked crookedly and shook his head. "I don't see why not. You're both smaller than most of them, and I know for a fact the hand-to-hand guy doesn't take into account littler people. He couldn't do a thing for 'Ro, and you're about her size."

"Well, I'm as old as she was too," Kamala pointed out. "I'm hoping I'll get taller, but… Ami's only five feet…"

"If 'Ro was around, she'd tell you what I taught her," Logan said softly.

"Did you teach her how to make that battery thing?" Kamala asked, sounding honestly impressed. "Because _that_ was a work of genius!"

"No, that was Stark, I think," Logan said. "I taught her how to kick a guy two feet taller than her in the face."

Kamala grinned at that and nodded. "Well, I've never kicked anyone. Or hit anyone. So…"

"You can practice on me," he said. "You'll do just fine."

"Are you sure I shouldn't ... maybe I should stick to food and hiding and traps and stuff? I'm not a fan of violence."

"If you're going to team up with us, I for one don't want you to get in a pinch and not be able to fight back," Clara said. "He can take it." She shoved Logan in the shoulder as she said the last bit with a grin. "He gets into it with my brother _all the time._ "

Kamala took in a big breath before she nodded. "Okay. If you don't mind ... that… that actually sounds like a really good alliance. I'll try hard to listen, too. Don't worry! I'm a good student," she swore, which only had Clara and Logan smiling at each other all over again.

* * *

Down in Twelve's suite, America had taken the time to change and shower and to check in on Billy, who was in his room rewatching tapes of all the Reapings, memorizing names and faces so he could introduce himself properly the next day during training.

"Hey, I'm ducking out for a sec," she called in. "You gonna be okay here?"

Billy waved his hand her way. "I'm _fine_. Just like the last eighty times you asked me."

"Yeah, well, if that changes, let me know." America glanced toward the television screen. Billy was rewatching Eleven's Reaping, and those kids were just _tiny_. She shook her head and looked back toward her partner. "Go to sleep. If you get your butt kicked tomorrow in training, I am _not_ listening to you complaining."

"You're so thoughtful," he said, sticking his tongue out at her, and she returned the favor with a horrible face of her own before she ditched the suites and headed downstairs. Jubilee had invited her to pop into Seven anytime, after all, and she had a score to settle while she was here —and while she was alive.

She had almost hit the elevator when the door to the roof opened, and Logan, Clara, and Kamala —of all people —hit the hallway as well.

"Loved your entrance," Clara told her with a smirk as they came up to a stop next to her to wait for the elevator. "It was glorious."

"Yeah, well, they needed the message," America said, though she was smirking the slightest bit. "I _was_ gonna go in more understated, let my partner take the glory, but they pissed me off."

"Coulda gone bigger, for as much as they pay attention," Logan replied.

"Yeah, well, they paid attention alright. Kinda ticked about that too. How'm I supposed to get my partner through if they don't notice him?" America grumbled before she put out her hand to Logan. "America Chavez, by the way."

"Logan," he replied as he took her hand. "Nice to have a name for the face finally."

"And a face to the name. I heard Kate telling stories on me last year," America said with a nod. "Which —by the way —sorry I don't believe all that crap, but you are _so_ not her type."

"Yeah, no kidding," he said with a nod. "No offense, but I'm really not thrilled to see you two here. I can practically hear her screaming 'idiot' at the both of you."

"If you think I didn't already give Billy that speech, you're just as stupid as they make you out to be," she said with a wave. "It's his own fault. Teddy would've been just fine, but him? Kid's a bookworm. Can't fight a paper airplane."

"Bookworms will surprise you from time to time. Banner was a bookworm."

"We'll have to see. But somehow, I don't think _my_ bookworm is the Banner type," America replied with a smirk.

"Noted," he said with a nod.

America looked him over for a second before she leaned back in the elevator and tipped her head at Kamala. "What're you doing here, Six?"

"Kamala."

"Okay. What're _you_ doing here, Kamala?" America said, though with a little smile this time.

"Nothing tonight," replied the much younger girl with a troublemaking smile. "Come back again tomorrow."

"Sounds like trouble," America replied. "You gonna tell me now or later?"

"Depends on if you want to play," Kamala replied, and America's eyes lit up.

"Oh, always."

When she looked over to Logan, he just shrugged, leaving it up to her. Kamala leaned forward with a little sparkle in her eyes. "I'm going to learn how to fight."

"Yeah? Thought that's what the next three days were for," America pointed out.

"Not from the _trainers_ ," Kamala said. "From _him_." She gestured at Logan with a proud look on her face.

America glanced at Logan and gave him a clear once-over. "Alright. He's only a little taller than you. Seems about right."

"Tiny fight club," Logan agreed.

She snorted. "You collect 'em," she said with a shrug as the elevator doors opened to the floor for Seven —and she stepped out with Clara and Logan.

"Coming to see Jubes?" Logan asked as they waved Kamala's way before the doors closed.

"Among other things," America said, losing a bit of the easy smirk once Kamala was gone.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked with a little frown.

"Sure, if you wanna hold down your old mentor so I can get a better shot. But I was going to kick him at about hip height, see what I hit to start," America said with a light shrug, though her gaze was hard.

Logan nodded his head for a moment and glanced at Clara, who had one eyebrow raised. "Alright. I hear you. But ... do yourself a favor and punch him in the throat first. He has a tendency to guard things that are about hip height. I'll stick around to make sure he doesn't get a hold of you. He's faster'n he looks."

"I'm pretty fast too," America said with a confident smirk.

"Lead with your left," Logan said before he held the door open for them and Clara started to laugh.

America grinned brilliantly at both of them as she strolled in with them, looking for all the world like she was headed to say hello to Jubilee as she even waved jauntily about two seconds before she spun in place with a left jab to Creed's throat like Logan had suggested and a right kick to follow it up at hip height as she'd planned in the first place.

The big guy went down to his knees with the first hit, which really only made America's kick that much more efficient, though he made a grab for her as he fell and caught a handful of hair and yanked her back closer to him, practically snarling.

Logan dashed around them and wrapped one arm around Creed's throat and pulled Victor's free arm back so he couldn't get a better grip on America, all while making sure that he was very clearly telling him to let the girl go. But of course, Victor refused —only letting go of America's hair when his vision started to go black around the edges as Logan was choking him out. Even then, though, Logan didn't let him go until he'd passed out —in time for the Sentinels to rush the room.

Logan stepped back from Creed with both hands up, palms out. "I didn't even hit him this time, guys. He made a rush for the girl from Twelve," Logan said. "She was here to talk to the kids about an alliance."

"He's a psycho. Must have it out for Twelves," America agreed without a second's hesitation.

"He does," Clara said. "Said he didn't like her one bit. I can't imagine why, though. She seems charming to me."

The Sentinels shared a few looks, but it really wasn't too hard to believe that Creed had been the instigator, so once they'd cleared the unconscious victor, they more or less left the others to their own devices, and America barely managed to keep it together long enough for the Sentinels to hit the hallway before she burst into a delighted laugh.

"Oh, that was fun. I may have to do that every day until I die," she said. "Priceless." She glanced over at Logan and then crossed the span to hit him in the shoulder with a grin. "And you —that was hilarious."

"What? The secret formula to drop him quick?"

"No, the part where _he takes the heat_. I had a whole excuse ready, but yours was _much better_." She was grinning widely, light and laughter dancing in her eyes as she grinned, pleased with the whole scenario.

"Figured it'd hold more water if I lied for you," Logan replied with a little smirk.

America grinned at him even wider before she ran her hands through her long and bushy hair. "Next time, I'll bring a hair band and put it in a ponytail," she said, grinning Jubilee's way.

"Be careful," Clara said as she tipped her head toward where Jubilee and Doreen were watching the whole thing, wide-eyed. "That one has a history of cutting off ponytails."

"Only like … a foot and a half of it," Jubilee defended with her arms crossed. "And he _so_ asked for it."

"He asks for everything," America pointed out with a grin. "And don't worry; I know about the Glitter Queen over here. My stylist is 'starting a line' with her." She grinned obscenely Jubilee's way as Jubilee lost her wide-eyed expression of disbelief and shrugged up one shoulder.

"They've been starting that line for months now," Logan said. "You think they'd _announce_ it already. Especially when they're not fooling a soul."

"Hear that?" America called Jubilee's way. "He called you out on your horrible sneak." She was clearly in a great mood as she dropped into the nearest couch and made herself at home, tipping her head backwards to look up at Clara and Logan. "Thanks for the assist, you two. That's been about, oh, a year in the making."

"I've been fighting with him on a weekly basis more or less," Logan told her as he headed over to pour himself a drink. "If that helps you at all."

"Little bit," America admitted with a sigh. "I'd feel better if it was me, but that's because I'm very hands-on with my revenge."

"He's going to be pretty distracted over the next few days," Logan told her. "Save your energy for protecting your friend."

America's grin fell a bit as she started to nod. "Yeah, I will. I had to do this one thing before things got too crazy — and, y'know. Before I die."

"So. Alliance," Clara said. "We should discuss it since it kinda came up."

"I'm for it if you don't mind my sidekick," America said with a shrug. "And if you don't mind my telling you I'll kill you dead if it comes down to you or him."

"That's kinda how this thing runs," Clara pointed out. "So I'd be an idiot if I expected anything less. How about ... _if_ we run into each other, we ally? I can't think of much that would tick off my brother more at this point unless, you know, we suddenly fell hopelessly in love." She gave America a cheeky kind of wink as she settled in, her knees crossed and her wrists on her knees.

"Seems fair," America nodded with a little laugh and an almost obnoxious grin. "Historically, Twelves and Sevens get along great."

"Until Vic reads the report on how you drove that bus over him," Logan pointed out as he glanced at Clara. "He's going to get his panties knotted up tight over that one." He looked America's way with a little nod. "And yeah. Nothing wrong with Twelve. Ten, though ..."

"Ten's full of psychos, apparently," America said. "I'm telling you now — if they get within a hundred feet of Billy…"

"I'd advise both of you to kill them quick if you get the chance," Logan said. "Seems like for my year, anyhow, the longer that freak was there, the crazier he got."

"Yeah, I noticed," America agreed before she stood up from the couch and stretched dramatically. "So. Kill the psychos, ally with the psycho's sister, and keep the kid alive. Sounds doable, right?"

"When you put it like that, it does," Clara said as she leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the coffee table.

"Great. Then I'll see you and your tall twig partner at training tomorrow. I'll be the one trying to teach the bookworm with two left feet how to… do… anything," America said, shaking her head at the task ahead of her.

"Bring him with if you come to the roof after," Clara said. "I'm sure Logan won't mind another student, right, Logan?" She bumped him with her shoulder, and Logan gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Can't hurt at this point," America agreed. With that, she waved Jubilee's way and blew her a kiss before she headed out. "See ya 'round, Sevens!" she called over her shoulder.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Jubilee made her way over to the two of them. "You guys can't pull that again," she advised. "For one thing, _you_ can't look like you went through a boxing match." She had one finger pointed in Logan's face before she turned to Clara. "But that … that was beautiful. Favorite Creed Ever."

"Like it's even a contest," Clara countered, her arms crossed.

* * *

 _Night of July 2_

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

From the reports Coulson was seeing come in from the staging run the kids had done, things could have gone a lot worse. They could have gone better,too, but, well... It could have been much worse, considering how things had gone during the victory tour.

For the most part, his kids had been able to find hiding places, perches, and pathways that they could use in the Capitol in a few months' time, and both Hawkeyes were reporting in that they'd found _great_ vantage points at the parade grounds.

But not one of the kids who had been sent closer to the palace itself had been able to make any leeway, even with all the intel they had on the ground. In fact, they were learning firsthand that during the Games, the palace security was _even tighter_ than they'd realized.

Natasha had only managed to get to the outer perimeter before something went wrong, and frankly, they were lucky that the security measures she set off didn't kill her outright. They were also lucky that Luke Cage was reckless and fast when he had a partner down and that Wade, of all people, had thought ahead and brought bleach so that any investigative team wouldn't get any forensic evidence to tie back to the kids.

When the transport with his kids got back to the hangar, Natasha and Clint were the last ones to get out, and they were arguing quietly between themselves as it was clear Natasha's right leg would _not_ support her — but she still didn't want to be carried out. Clint had other ideas entirely, and Coulson heard the tail end of his argument as he had her half trapped carrying her out — "and so help me, Tasha, if you screw up that leg bad enough you can't go out on anymore missions while they fix you up, you are _never_ allowed to tease me about Medical."

To Coulson's great relief, though, it looked like the medic courses Rhodey had talked Carol into were working out —Carol had done a great job patching Natasha up, and the young woman looked more annoyed than like she was hurting as she glanced over Clint's shoulder to see Coulson. "Stop fretting. You're just going to dig yourself deeper in the 'dad' hole with the kids if you keep making that face," she called his way.

"Quit deflecting," Coulson called back.

"What, I can't multitask because I got hurt? I've been hurt worse than this."

"You can't shift the focus onto me just because you got hurt. I'm pretty sure pride heals." Coulson tipped his head a bit. "Eventually."

She fixed him with a _look_ as Clint looked smug, so she smacked Clint in the head for his smugness before she shook her head at Coulson. "That place was crawling with death traps. We'll need more up-to-date intel when we go in for real, or you'll have a lot more than a busted leg in Medical for the next batch you send in."

"That's what staging runs are for, Nat," Clint teased.

"We can talk about it in the debrief," Coulson said. "For now, get yourself patched up, and we'll deal with the details later."

"What you don't want to hear about the perch I found?" Clint called Coulson's way as he shifted to carry Natasha to medical. "It's pretty amazing. Watched the whole parade like I was in a theater box seat."

"Sounds like exactly the right spot for you," Coulson said. "Any trouble seeing the stage?"

"Not a lick. Biggest problem will be how many people are there —the second I take a shot, they'll know where I am. But ... I make 'em count," Clint said with a grin before he added, "Katie's got a better hiding place, but she can't see the stage as well."

"You'll both have to show me your chosen spots," Coulson agreed. "Maybe we can just make sure you have a good cover person for your hasty retreat."

Clint gave Natasha a significant look. "Yeah. Hopefully, they're not _indisposed_."

"Get someone else to cover you, Barton —I'm going for the palace," Natasha said, shaking her head at him.

"Gee, Nat, what would I do without your touching concern and friendship?"

"I shudder to think."

Clint laughed at her as he shouldered his way down to medical. "See you 'round, Van Helsing!" he called out before the door to the medical wing shut behind him, leaving Coulson alone in the hangar to shake his head at their antics.


	7. How to Make Friends And Enemies

**Notes: Aww, Silz, darling! That was such an awesome one-shot. It really, really was.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: "How to Make Friends… And Enemies"**

* * *

 _Morning of July 3: First Day of Training_

 _District Seven Suite_

* * *

It was exceedingly quiet in the suite when Scott came out of his room to get a quick cup of coffee before the day's worth of training. It was early enough that nothing was planned for a few hours, and he took the coffee to the wall of windows at the far end of the suite to watch the dawn sky for a while. He hadn't had a morning this quiet since… well. Since he and Alex had been separated after their parents died.

It had been _great_ to see Alex again, even if it was clear Alex didn't remember him. Over ten years, and the kid looked like he'd end up being just as tall as Scott was if he kept up at that rate, though he wasn't as skinny as his big brother.

Alex had told him about his family in Nine, his foster parents and the good life he had back there, and honestly, Scott was glad. Alex seemed happy. It was just… almost unfair that he was happy without Scott. Not that Alex knew any better. Alex didn't really remember their family, and even though Scott had tried to tell him some stories, it was clear Alex was happy where he was, with his new parents. And that was good for him. Really.

So Scott settled into the couch as he pulled up the footage from the parade to rewatch it. He knew he and Alex had played right into Tivan's narrative, so now the question was how to use it, turn it to their advantage… it would probably get them sponsors...

* * *

It had been a long night for Logan, and likely one of the last he'd have to put up with the Capitolites quite like that until after the Games were over anyhow. Fury had promised him an actual mission for the next night, seeing as the Capitol expected the mentors to be well … mentoring. Whatever that meant. So far, none of the other victors had bothered to tell him what the hell he could actually _do._

At any rate, he was worn out from playing nice to creepy higher ups that Gamora told him had been 'patiently waiting' for months to spend time with him and trying to not crack a few well-deserving people in the face. As it stood, he only had to try and be approachable for the kids for a few hours before they disappeared into training and Jessica came around to drag him to wherever he was supposed to be for the time that they were occupied.

He wasn't expecting anyone to be awake when he finally slipped into the suite — seeing as it was just now dawn, but he was a bit surprised to have spotted Scott on the couch before he silently pulled the door shut behind him. "You're up early," Logan said as he stepped inside, wondering what Scott thought he'd been up to all night.

Scott glanced back at him. "I'm always up this early," he said, though he had to frown at the sight of Logan. "You were out late."

"Too late," Logan agreed. "Hazard of being here."

"You look like crap."

Logan let out a little chuckle. "Don't I know it."

Scott gestured toward the kitchenette in their suite. "There's coffee. Moira showed me and Clara how to make it yesterday."

"Great," Logan said as he finally stepped a bit further into the suite. "But if you're not too opposed — I'm going to go wash up before anyone else gets moving." He didn't wait for an answer as he headed off to leave Scott with his thoughts, though he did at least make a mental note to try to get back from the mission earlier.

* * *

 _District Five Suite_

* * *

Luckily for Peter Quill, neither of his tributes were early risers, so when he returned to his own suite, there was no one waiting up for him — though by the time he'd showered, there was someone in the living room. Jessica Drew had shown up to check on him.

"I thought you'd be taking care of your pickpocket today," he said with a little crooked smile. "The joker he left in my pocket was real cute, Drew."

"He's just … making friendly," Jessica said with a smirk. "How are you hanging in there, joker?"

Quill waved his hand at her but didn't meet her gaze. "Oh, you know. Getting really good at milking the 'lord' title."

"The science babies offered to send you something to take the edge off," she told him. "But I told them you didn't want to take the chance at letting anything slip."

Quill actually looked a bit sheepish. "Yeah, my, uh, one of my tributes already liberated some of the alcohol stash from the train, but I _was_ mostly sober for anything that counted, I swear." He grinned crookedly at her. "She'd get along with yours."

"You think so, huh? He seems to be dedicated to flirting with everyone around him. _Everyone._ "

"So what's he hitting you with, huh?" Quill asked with a little smirk. "And is it working?"

"Ah, the worst pickup lines I've ever heard — and no," she said with a little laugh. "Though he did manage to trick his district partner into giving him a kiss. The kid is shameless."

"How'd he pull _that_ off?" Quill asked, leaned against the wall and fully entertained now.

"How'd you get that joker in your pocket?" she countered. "Apparently, the bet was that he wouldn't pickpocket anyone — so he started putting things _in_ their pockets instead. She only kissed his cheek, but the gloating was still really ridiculous."

"I'm jealous, Drew. All I've got are a couple of monosyllabic kids who know how to drink my booze." He dropped into the seat beside her. "Good kids, but the conversation is so, _so_ lacking."

"I'm sure you'll get someone fun to talk to before too long," she said with a little smile. "Patience."

"Yeah, I'm not in a hurry. At all. To go anywhere. It can stay today for as _long_ as it wants." Quill shook his head and let out a sigh. "Oh, hey, by the way." He sat up a bit straighter and pressed a flash drive into her side where the cameras wouldn't see. "Palace security's amping up. Again. For the Games, the wedding, the whole nine," he said, this time in a much, much quieter tone — and far more serious.

"Not surprised at all," she said with a nod.

"Woulda got it to you sooner, but I am today's hottest soon-to-be-former bachelor, so…" He shrugged at her and looked down at the ground. "Just tell the science babies to hurry up and find something that takes the edge off _without_ letting me slip, because this job is getting nuttier every day, Jess. And I am not against getting one of those suicide implants at this point?"

"No kidding," she agreed. "Everyone is saying the same thing. We've got fights going on already, by the way. Thought you might like to hear that one."

"Yeah? Who's playing?"

She grinned but made it a point to let out a sigh all the same. "Officially, the story is that Creed made a play at the girl from Twelve and she _defended_ herself with a throat punch and a gut shot. All he got was a handful of hair before our little friend in Seven choked him out."

"And what's the unofficial story?" he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.

"She had an axe to grind, and he coached her on how to drop him fast. Lied fast to cover her — and the Creed girl played along."

"She did? Well lookit that." Quill shook his head. "His own family doesn't like him. Why am I not surprised?"

"If I didn't want to tick him off, I'd point out that the girl looks like she's got a crush," Jess laughed.

"Aw man. A Creed and Logan? Yeah. Yeah… no. I can't… I can't wrap my head around that one. At all."

"She's cute," Jess said with a laugh and a shrug.

"Still weird." Quill shook his head quietly before he leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "You doing okay, by the way? I didn't ask."

"Yeah, I'm .. you know. I'm fine. I'm always fine." She shrugged up one shoulder. "It was just socializing with idiots for me last night."

"Hey, same here. Only my idiots come in blue and green and seem to think scarring me for life is funny," Quill joked lightly. "How are the Capitolites that _aren't_ kissing royal butt? Quarter Quell got them as excited as Fury wants 'em to be? All nice and distracted?"

"So much drama," she said, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. "They love it."

He leaned in, looking more serious than usual. "Good, 'cause someone tripped a security alarm last night, and I'd hate to think what would've happened if they _weren't_ distracted when it went down."

"I'm sure we'll hear about it on the other side," she said at a whisper, her hair covering her face enough she wasn't too concerned about the cameras.

He smirked at her for a second before, all at once, he jumped to his feet and offered her a hand up. "Well, nice of you to stop by, but we've got some kids to look after. And hopefully some Z's to catch."

"Yep," she agreed. "Good luck. I'm sure there are questions to be answered from the new guy. He's not _acting_ like a new guy. Yet."

"Well. We'll see." He flashed her a thumbs up as she left and then, as soon as she was gone, more or less passed out asleep on the couch to wait for his late-rising tributes.

* * *

 _Capitol Training Area for the Tributes_

* * *

Miles' district partner wasn't really much of a talker, which was a bit of a let-down, because he really wanted to make friends. But no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't get her to laugh or anything, and finally, by the time they hit the training room, he had pretty much given up. Maybe he could talk to someone else.

Monet went to the tree-climbing station, which Miles had actually wanted to go to… but maybe he could try hand-to-hand? Yeah. He could totally try that.

There was only one other person at the station when he got there, and Miles waved at the little blonde with the tips of his fingers. "Oh, hello, other spider!" he called out. "I liked your outfit last night at the parade. You _so_ deserve the nod more than me. Much better coming from you."

Gwen turned to face Miles with a surprised expression on her face, but she seemed to relax on seeing that he was entirely earnest. "Thanks, I think," she said with a little smile.

"I'm Miles, by the way," he said. "Miles Morales."

"Gwen Stacy."

Miles nodded at her with an almost awkward smile before the trainer, Danny Rand, set them up to show them a few of the basics, so they fell out of conversation for a while, both of them focused on trying to learn what the tall barefooted blonde was teaching.

But as soon as Danny stepped away to help another tribute who came by the station — the little girl from Six — Miles turned back to Gwen with a wide smile. "Hey, so — do you know, like, any of this stuff? Because I'm sort of shopping for a new district partner while mine is…" He gestured over at the tree-climbing station, where Monet was, of course, excelling. "It's not even fair. She's just _like_ that. And she's the youngest out of all of us."

"Well, my district partner seems to think he can flirt his way out of everything."

"How's that working out for him? Is it an effective strategy? Because if it is, I'm gonna have to start taking notes." Miles grinned at her. "Every little bit helps when you're small and skinny and all you know how to do is advanced math and bad jokes."

Gwen looked completely taken back for a moment. "I am intimately familiar with that coping mechanism."

"Oh good. I knew I picked a good replacement partner," he said with a little laugh. "We can scare all those big scary guys with pre-calc and our super buff muscles." He flexed an arm for the full effect.

She still looked taken aback as she watched him. "You are so much like the original Spidey it's not even … well. It is kinda funny. Like you're some kind of … clone or something."

Miles looked honestly surprised. "Clone? Me?" He shook his head, though he started to laugh despite himself halfway through the motion. "Oh yeah. I can so see the family resemblance."

"Not with the looks, of _course_ ," she said with her eyes narrowed a bit. "But the personality? The jokes? Oh. Yeah."

"Is that… I'm hoping that's a compliment, right?" he asked a bit nervously. "Not a come-on? I mean, I know you dated the guy…"

"You wish, spider-brat."

Miles raised both hands. "I was just checking. I am _way_ too young for you."

"Want to try another station? Maybe the poisonous plants?"

"I was actually thinking about snagging the climbing when Monet's done," Miles admitted. "There were a couple really good climbing trees by the school where I grew up, and hey, if there's a station for it, it must mean climbing is actually good for our survival, right?"

"Well … that actually makes some sense. Partners?" She looked a bit hopeful as she offered her hand to him.

He broke into a huge grin and took her hand, then pulled her into an outright hug. "Oh, yes! Yes, we _so_ have to partner!"

"Team Spiders, apparently."

"Yeah, I still don't know why my stylist did that," Miles said apologetically. "Shoulda just been you. I didn't mean to step on… anything..."

"She met him. You're like him. All the stylists talk." She gave him a warm smile. "It's a compliment, really."

"Oh, okay. As long as it doesn't… it doesn't bug you, does it?" He paused. "And I so don't mean that like a pun."

"It's really nice to hear that brand of humor again," she said with a smile. "Even if you're totally off in calling an arachnid a _bug._ "

"Great! At least someone gets it."

"I hope you get a second to meet my stylist. She'll love you," Gwen told him. "She appreciates that sense of humor too."

"Hey, that sounds great. I'd love to get out, stretch my legs, meet spider-fans."

The two of them were almost to the climbing course when another tribute joined them. The little girl from Six came all but sprinting over, half hiding behind Gwen for a moment before she straightened up. "Oh. Hi. Sorry I just… can I join you? I don't want to be in hand-to-hand. Alone. With the creepy girl from Three."

"Oh, yeah, she's kind of something else, isn't she?" Gwen looked over to Miles with a little smile. "I'm Gwen."

"Kamala Khan," the girl said brightly. "And you are?"

"Miles." He grinned at her. "We're going to climb trees — you wanna join us?"

"Sure, why not?" Kamala said with a shrug, her gaze on the hand-to-hand station for just a moment longer before she slung her arms around both Gwen and Miles' shoulders. "Just pretend we're best friends now so I don't look like a target, okay? She looks like she wants to kill me."

"Most of the kids here—"

"I know I know," Kamala said, cutting Gwen off. "But I have the Red Skull for a mentor. I am getting _really_ good at recognizing the psycho look."

"Oh, yeah, you've got a bad one," Gwen said, cringing. "Not like I'm much better off, though. Ol' Osborn."

"Oh, but I saw how he was being so nice to you before…"

"He's … trying to make up for Peter dying last year," Gwen said in a rush. "He was Norman's favorite back in Eight. He was best friends with Norman's son, Harry ..."

"Oh." Kamala fell silent as she looked Gwen over. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine," Gwen said with a little nod and a put-on smile. "It just doesn't help me much when he keeps promising he's doing his best — like he did for Peter."

"Well, Spidey got really far last year, though," Miles pointed out. "And he _did_ get the tracker jacker thing."

"Yeah, we'll just have to see how it goes," Gwen said with a shrug.

* * *

Scott had tried to suggest to Alex that he try working with knives, but Alex wanted to try the swords instead, and he just didn't _listen_ to anything Scott said to the contrary. Finally, Scott had to give up after Alex snapped at him. "I got along just fine without you — stop trying to boss me around!"

"I'm just trying to look out for you," Scott argued, but Alex glared at him.

"I'm _fine_. Stop being so controlling. You're not in charge of my every move."

Scott glared right back before he just threw up his hands and moved toward one of the more useful stations. He might as well make sure _one_ of them knew enough not to eat poison plants or something.

He headed to the plants station, but as he crossed the span, the girl from Ten passed him by, slamming her shoulder into his as they passed too closely, and she spun on her heel to hiss " _baka_ " at him with her eyes flashing.

"Sorry about that," he offered with a small smile, but she simply jutted her chin out at him before she spun on her heel and stalked off.

Scott sighed, shook his head, and moved on to the plants table. At least there no one was yelling at him — it was relatively quiet as everyone was just studying the plants and memorizing the differences. He was about halfway through the section on how to identify cacti that held drinkable water — as opposed to the kind you did _not_ want to drink from — when someone else joined him at the station, and he looked up for just a second to see that it was the redhead from One. He gave her a little smile before he went back to his studies, not really in the mood for another person getting on his case.

"Could you … explain this to me?" she asked with a little smile. "I don't see the difference between the two different cacti." She leaned closer to him before he got to answer. "You look smart enough to explain it."

He was honestly surprised, especially since she was a Career, but he moved over so he could see her book and shook his head. "They're both toxic — there's only one type that's not, and these aren't it either," he said, pointing her attention at the barrel cactus further down the page.

"Well, aren't you a quick study?" she said as she glanced up with a little smile at the corner of her mouth. "What else can you show me?"

"I just pay attention to detail is all," he said, a little taken back by the smile and not sure what to do with it.

"I catch details too … just not the same ones. Like—" She took a breath and held it before she surprised him again and picked up his hand. "Like these calluses. You're a hard worker. Good with your hands, right?"

"I'm a wood carver," he said, suddenly self-conscious as she kept hold of his hand and he noticed that her own hands were softer and light. "Thus, you know, the attention to detail."

"I'm sure," she said with a widening smile.

"What about you?" he asked, sitting up a bit straighter.

"I'm not trained at any of the training centers," she said with a shake of her head as she finally let go of his hand. "I was supposed to go in last year. Just trying to set it right."

"But every year in One, it's a volunteer. Don't you just… expect that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It was a mess last year," she said as she leaned in closer so she could whisper. "There were _two_ volunteers for me last year. The girl that volunteered first spent just about every day of the last year … being awful to me. I just had to get away from it." She let out a little sigh. "It was like torture."

Scott's eyes widened, and he leaned a bit closer. "So you're throwing your life away?" He shook his head. "That seems like a waste."

"No, I'm going to fight. I'm not a total idiot," she said before she brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "I just couldn't listen to her another day. She kept telling me how if she'd gone in, One would have had it in the bag."

"I wasn't trying to say — I don't think you're an idiot," he said quickly. "I'm sure you can…" He took a breath and cleared his throat and tried very hard not to sound like an idiot himself. "If you want any help at the stations, or anything else, let me know."

"I might just," she said, her smile returning a bit before she let her voice drop to a whisper. "I'm really not Career material."

"So ditch them," he said, matching her whisper.

"Is that an offer?" she asked, eyes wide.

He shrugged. "Why not? If you're not a Career, makes sense to ally against them. As long as you don't mind helping me look out for my kid brother."

She looked over her shoulder and watched the room for a moment. "I like that," she said, nodding. "But … maybe it would be best if we kept it quiet until _after_ the Careers meet. Maybe I can get an idea of who they think is a threat."

"That's not a bad idea," he said with a thoughtful nod. "If you could try and sway them away from us, too…"

"Of course," she replied, smiling crookedly. "Can't let anything happen to those pretty brown eyes."

Scott blinked at her openly as he didn't know what to do in response to that. He finally just cleared his throat. "Okay, so ... cacti. Probably better to just avoid them altogether, since only one isn't toxic. Got it?" he said, turning back to the book.

"Got it," she said with a decisive nod a moment before Clara walked up and dropped an arm over both of their shoulders.

"So. What's the story over here, district partner?" Clara asked, one eyebrow arched up. "Keeping friends close or enemies closer?"

Scott gave her a crooked smile. "Both."

"I'm going to hope you don't mean me as the enemy then," Clara said. "I'd hate to show you my bad side."

Scott shook his head quickly. "I didn't mean either of you," he said diplomatically. "I know better than that," he added Clara's way.

"I'm sure two days with both Creeds has taught you a few things," Jean had to agree with a bit of a glare Clara's way.

"Yes, I'm sure it has. Like not to cross us," Clara replied with a bright smile that bordered on predatory. "I could give you a crash course on that if you're confused. A little one on one time, you and me. Show you what I _do_ have in common with my big brother."

"I'll just get the notes from Scott," Jean replied with a fire in her gaze.

"I'm sure you'll get whatever you can from whoever you can," Clara replied smoothly. "You'll need it."

"Clara," Scott broke in with a frown.

"Scott," she replied with both eyebrows raised his direction as she tipped her chin up and straightened up, looking both taller and more formidable at once. "Something on your mind?"

Scott glanced at Jean and then let out a sigh. "I'll tell you later," he said to Clara almost under his breath.

"Perfect," Clara said before she went one better and, simply to screw with Jean, she popped up on her toes and gave Scott a kiss on the cheek. "See you later, partner."

* * *

Alex wasn't the only one who had gone right to the swords station — though after the initial rush for the swords had died down when it was clear they were harder to use than they looked, Betsy made her way over almost cautiously.

She didn't have any illusions about being good at fencing or being able to master swordplay in just three days, but she couldn't help being curious about the station. Brian was trying his hand at archery after all — and completely failing — so she might as well try something new herself.

The trainer, Duquesne, showed her the basics once she'd picked out a sword that felt right in her hands. He seemed surprised as he took her through a few of the movements, and something like a smile flitted over his expression. "Have you ever used one of these before?" he had to ask.

But she shook her head 'no.' "I didn't ever train back home," she admitted, and Duquesne looked that much more impressed as he had her take up a sparring position, just to test out how quickly she could learn.

Duquesne's style of teaching seemed to be very much in the vein of sink or swim, as he would explain a move once and then immediately run her through it, but to his surprise — and Betsy's — she was actually getting the hang of it.

By the time Duquesne had to give his attention to some of the other kids clamoring for attention with their own sword training, he had declared her to be a natural, and he left her to practice several of the moves she'd just learned as he went to where some of the younger kids were just trying to pick out the best swords for themselves.

Betsy was surprised by how easily the training came to her, though she didn't have much time to process it, as one of the other Careers, the blonde from Four, had seen her progress and made her way over with a smile that looked a little forced. "And here I thought you had no propensity for the killing arts," Amora said, shaking her head. "If we're going to be allies, it's a relief to know you at least can _fight_."

"I can hold my own," Betsy replied. "But I wasn't aware that it was a required team-up."

"It's expected," Amora said, waving her hand airily. "For the sponsors, for the training — it's easier to just do as expected and avoid politicking even if the pickings aren't so ... " She glanced toward where Brian had clearly given up on archery in a fit of annoyance. "Mmm." She let the sentence dangle, unfinished.

"That is no way to win my favor or my loyalty," Betsy said. "Expected or not."

Amora turned Betsy's way with a false smile. "Oh, he'll be part of the alliance too, of course. But you have to admit that we women have a much better selection this year than our male counterparts."

Betsy glanced past Amora to her hulking shadow and raised one eyebrow. "I can see how you would mistakenly come to that conclusion."

"Skurge is a means to an end," Amora said, waving it away.

"Well Brian is my brother — and after watching the disaster from your district last year, you should know blood is thicker than water. Good luck," Betsy said before she simply ignored the girl and went back to her practice.

Amora stayed there for a few more moments before she let out a bit of a huff, turned on her heel, and stalked away.


	8. Looking Out for the Bitties

**Chapter 8: "Looking Out for the Bitties"**

After a full day of training, Kamala was already pretty tired out, but she was _so_ not going to miss working with Clara and Logan, so she wolfed down the dinner that had been brought to the suite before she politely excused herself and dashed off — not that her mentor or her partner looked too disappointed about her leaving.

She was the first one to get up to the roof — obviously too excited to wait — so when Logan and both of the tributes from his district finally hit the roof, she positively beamed at them and waved them over.

"What did you learn today?" Logan asked with a little smile at her obvious enthusiasm. "Anything?"

"I learned plenty about traps and knots," Kamala reported with a little nod, looking quite pleased with herself.

"Good," he said before he looked to his two shadows and then stepped up to Kamala with both hands, palms up in front of him. "Hit me."

She lost a bit of her pleased expression as she realized she had an audience and hedged, her teeth worrying over her bottom lip. "Umm…"

"Scott can work with Clara," Logan told her quietly, clearly realizing what her concern was as the two Sevens headed off to a different area of the roof. He dropped his voice as he added, "He won't listen to me. But he might listen to her, and she _knows_ how to throw a punch."

"But you're his mentor! And you're actually _mentoring_!" Kamala looked totally bewildered. "Isn't that, like, the whole point?"

He tipped his head a bit to the side. "The only way he's going to learn anything is if it comes from anyone but me."

"That seems like a really long way around," she pointed out.

"Can't make him listen, and like I said — he doesn't like me."

She tipped her head to the side to study him for a moment before she let out a breath. "His loss," she decided.

"Didn't say that Clara wasn't getting a little help," Logan told her softly. "In how to tip him off."

Kamala smiled at him and put up her fists. "Okay." She set her jaw, nodded once, and then simply poured her all into a hit to his right hand.

He didn't tease her or comment negatively in the least, instead just taking her hand and readjusting how she was making her fist while explaining quickly why she didn't want to stick her knuckle out when she hit. "Don't try to hit my hand. Try to hit _through_ my hand."

She squared both of her shoulders and let out a little breath, looking rather determined as she tried again, though of course, the very serious expression melted the instant she hit his hand as she grinned up at him. "Better?"

"Much," he said, nodding. "Give me five of those — nice and solid — and then I'll show you how to block." He took a better stance, and as she hit, he started giving her a few more tips on getting her weight behind her punch. By the time she'd gotten what he said was a _solid_ five — in a row — she was feeling pretty good about herself.

"Now, blocking," Logan said as he started to show her a new drill. "Use your forearms to block and redirect." He explained why this drill ran through four areas instead of just two or three, and as they were working on it, the door opened up once again to admit their friends from Twelve.

"Got room for another?" America asked as she half dragged Billy along with her.

"Always," Logan said as he glanced up her way. "Just starting with basics. You know how to punch. If he won't listen to you, Kamala can teach him."

"I know how to punch," Billy argued, arms crossed over his chest as he looked a little put out at being obviously classified as remedial.

"Of course you do, _chico_ ," America said soothingly. "Now go show Logan your blocks so you can work with the _chica_ he's got. You need the help."

"Just a starting point, kiddo," Logan told him.

Billy just gave America a look of longsuffering, and she shooed him with both hands, heading over to where the other two were so she could play with the older kids and leave Logan with the youngest in the group.

"She's a giant pain," Billy told Logan.

"She's trying to help you," Logan pointed out. "Oh, and just so I can say I did my best .." He reached up and popped Billy in the back of the head with a little swat. "Kate would be so pissed at you."

Billy rubbed his head and glared Logan's way. "Hey, they pulled my boyfriend. What was I _supposed_ to do?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't do the same. I just said she'd be pissed." He gave Billy a little smirk. "There is a difference between being a sanctimonious pain in the ass and being truthful."

"It's a thin, thin line," Billy said, still rubbing his head.

"So come on. Ease Miss America's mind. Block what I throw at you — I'll go easy."

"It's not so hard, honest," Kamala encouraged him with a bright smile. "I'm picking it up okay, and I've never hit anyone in my life."

Billy almost couldn't help the little smile her way. "Oh, good. Then I'm at least not _the_ least experienced," he teased. "I've hit America plenty."

With that, Logan started a slow attack to see how Billy held up his blocks, then stopped to correct him on an easier way to do it before setting the two younger kids up to practice together. He watched Scott, Clara, and America for a moment, just to see what he needed to get Clara to correct with Scott — since trying to do it himself was going to be like talking to a wall.

And Jess had pointed out that he couldn't tell Scott he was acting just like his brother in training. Since they weren't supposed to know what was going on in the training room. Or that's what they told the kids anyhow.

"You gonna come play?" America called his way.

"Sure," Logan said. "I'm sure you need to hit something. Quota wasn't met yet today, was it?"

"Too busy taking the kid around to the useful stuff. Plants, traps, bookish things he'll actually remember."

"Alright. I know you can hit — nice form, by the way," Logan teased. "How about blocking? You know. For when you don't want to get hit yourself?"

"Best defense is a good offense," she replied.

"True story," he said with a nod.

"But sure — come on over and _try_ and hit me," she teased.

"I'll go easy for you," he said with a little smile. "Not as easy as them … but still."

She rolled her eyes. "Please don't. I've got thick skin. I can take it if I lose."

"I'd rather not go anywhere near all-out. I've got Clara's brother for that."

"I still say he's a punk and a coward," America muttered at that.

"He is," Clara called over. "On both counts. You should hear him complain. The only times he's ever really beaten Logan here is when our little friend has been drunk. It bugs him."

America shot Logan a huge grin at that. "Can't play fair, huh? What a loser."

"Let's not talk about trash when they're not here for me to chuck off the roof," he said with a little smirk. With that, he started the attack — easy enough to begin with, but he moved up in difficulty with her fast. Both of the other pairs of kids stopped what they were doing as the two of them started moving faster and faster, though when America was at her top tier, Logan was still just calmly nodding at every blocked punch or kick until he decided she'd had enough.

She grinned at him brilliantly as she leaned against the wall. "That was fun," she declared through panted breaths.

"We'll get into some fun stuff tomorrow," Logan promised. "And you can try to hit me."

"Don't let her kick you though," Billy called out as he and Kamala made their way over. "That hurts, and your ribs look like they're still healing. Or… is it the ribs?" He tilted his head to the side as he seemed to be studying Logan.

Logan looked like he'd been caught for just a moment as he looked Billy's way and held his breath. "Ah. I haven't really found out how many, but yeah. Ribs."

"You should. It looks painful," Billy said.

"You were _fine_ this morning," Scott broke in, glaring Logan's way like he just couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"This happens," Logan said with a little shrug that really wasn't helping his case as Scott glared harder at him.

"Your ribs just bruise all on their own?" Billy shook his head. "Some superpower."

"Doesn't matter," Logan said, shaking his head. "Just trying to get you guys prepped. Don't worry about me."

"How did you even get hurt in the first place?" Scott asked, clearly not ready to let it drop.

But it was Clara who stepped in with a bit of a _look_ in Scott's direction. "Just my brother and him in a suite alone for a few hours while we trained. You do the math."

"I didn't touch him," Logan clarified with one eyebrow raised her direction.

"I didn't think you did," she replied. "He hasn't been complaining," she added, though this time with a bit of a smirk his way.

"Then he must be pretty pleased with himself," Logan muttered.

"Well, like America said —he's a coward. Sleeping targets are easy for him," Clara muttered back at him.

"I'll talk to someone," Logan said. "I have to get a check over anyhow. Anxious little lab rats," he muttered very quietly.

"How'd you even know about Logan being hurt, Billy?" Kamala asked curiously, and the dark-haired boy shrugged.

"I noticed his breathing," he said. "Didn't you guys?" When there was a chorus of shaking heads, he shrugged again. "Well… I do a lot of reading, and I do a _lot_ of patching up back home. Friends with this one." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at America.

"He doesn't patch me up — he patches up the kids who annoy me," America clarified, in case anyone was wondering.

"Yeah, I got that part," Clara said with a little smirk.

America grinned outright at Clara. "Alright, gorgeous, let's you and me go a round or two, huh?"

"Anytime, spangles," she replied with a little grin.

* * *

 _July 3_

 _Hangar of the Tahiti Wing_

* * *

It was pretty usual to see Cassie in the hangar waiting for any of her favorite people to come back from missions, but that day, the roles were reversed entirely. This time, it was Luke who was all but pacing the floor of the hangar while _Cassie_ was the one out, and Cassie couldn't help but grin to herself as she set the jet down. She probably even did a better landing than usual just to show off before she jumped out of the cockpit to go wrap up her old friend in a hug.

"What, were you _worried_ about me?" she had to tease as soon as she had him in a good, tight hug.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said as he picked her up off the ground.

She laughed and hugged him tighter until he set her back down at last and then shook her head at him. "Don't worry. It was actually pretty easy. The skies were clear, and I mostly just did the flying," she promised.

"So, no trouble like Romanoff had, I hope," he said with a little frown. "Because I am not used to you being out there in the middle of the mess."

"I _asked_ to go out in the middle of the mess," she pointed out.

"Just because you asked for it doesn't mean I'm used to the idea of it," he shot back. "Especially right now, when the heat's up."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him again. "Are you going to be this much of a worrywart when we start having an _actual_ revolution? Because you're going to go bald if you keep it up, just worry the hair right off your head!"

"I'll take that chance," he said with a little smile that almost hid his dimples.

Cassie took a step back and considered him. "You wouldn't look half bad," she mused with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

"That's because I _always_ look good," he replied, finally starting to back off a little bit. "That lunatic of an admirer of yours has been orbiting the hangar while you were gone."

"Oh yeah?" Cassie's eyes lit up a bit, though she had to laugh. "He can't really talk, though. And neither can you, Luke. Both of you have _way_ more dangerous missions lined up than I do, and you know it!"

"Yeah, but you're way cuter than we are. Revolution can't go on without you."

She laughed again and popped up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You're such a sweetheart, Luke," she teased him before she glanced around the hangar. "So… where did you say the satellite was?"

"Girl, you can't go doin' that now. Don't start talking like him." He relaxed his shoulders as he gave her a hard time.

She smirked his way outright and did the opposite, drawing up her shoulders and adopting a gruffer voice. "You sayin' I should talk more like you?" she asked in her best approximation of his deep voice.

"Go find your little creep boy," he said with a little scrunched up look on his face. "Just don't do anything stupid with him."

"I promise not to do anything that would make you want to hurt him," she teased, drawing a halo over her head.

"You know I'll _break_ him."

"I know," she agreed before she laughed and waved him off. "See you 'round. Get some sleep — you've been up all night on missions; why are you still here?" She made a face at him. "And you worry about _me_. Ridiculous." With that, she simply flounced away, and Luke was left shaking his head at her — though very grateful to see that she was in high spirits and that nothing had gone wrong while she was out.


	9. Recon Work

**Chapter 9: Recon Work**

* * *

 _July 4: Second Day of Training_

 _Capitol Training Complex for the Tributes_

* * *

"Did you catch him coming in at all?" Scott asked Clara as the two of them walked down to the training room, with Logan a few paces behind them, escorting them to the entrance as he'd done the day before.

"He was drinking coffee when I got up," Clara said quietly, glancing over her shoulder for just a moment. Victor was a few paces behind Logan and watching the two of them carefully. "Or, he was staring at the cup anyhow."

Scott shook his head, clearly annoyed. "He came in before I was up, but I saw the attempt at cleanup. He looks like crap, Clara," he grumbled, though he too, stole a quick peek at their mentors as they continued on.

"I don't know what to tell you," she said. "It wasn't Victor. He was in the suite all night."

"Then what…" Scott trailed off, let out all his breath, and ran a hand over his face.

"I don't know. They actually talked for a minute. It was too quiet for me to catch, though. Something's up."

"No kidding," he said dryly just before they came to a stop, and the two tributes turned to catch the little nod from both Logan and Creed before they broke off and headed off to do whatever the victors did while the kids went to train.

Clara let out a sigh and shook her head as they crossed the threshold into the already busy training center. "Has he done anything to screw you up?"

"It's not me I'm worried about," Scott pointed out.

"Then who _are_ you worried about?" she asked as their conversation continued at a whisper, their heads together.

"The other kids, the ones he's teaching …"

"Do you think he's screwing them up?" she asked.

"I think he's doing what he always does. He likes to have friends, but he doesn't put in the effort to stay friendly," Scott admitted, looking fairly annoyed about it.

"Uh-huh," she said with a little smirk. "And you've spent a lot of time trying on your end too?"

"Me? No. Whole bunch of disappointed little kids who can't find him when they need him? Yeah," Scott grumbled.

She shook her head and stepped in closer to whisper as quietly as she was able to him. "Okay, let me make this easy for you, because you don't know the whole story. Once you win? You _don't_ get a say in your time management, got that? You don't know what's going on with all that mess. So don't throw stones."

He raised an eyebrow her way and looked more annoyed, if that was possible. "See, that's just it. It'd be one thing if it was just that he's gone — which he is. But the guy gets home and _still_ …." He waved a hand. "He has a tendency to disappear, Clara. Gets too wrapped up in… _whatever_ he thinks is so important. Even when he's _not_ at the Capitol. I get the Capitol part, I do. It tweaks Heather. But…" He just let out a frustrated noise. "Forget it."

"If I could tell you more without you freaking out right now where there are cameras and microphones, I would," Clara promised. "But believe it or not — he has a good reason to be looking and acting the way he is."

"Well, when you feel like sharing the 'good reason' to leave kids in the lurch, let me know. It's not just a victor thing, or Groot would be ditching too."

"You don't think so?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Was Logan like this before?"

"I didn't really _know_ him before I found him passed out in the snow after your brother did a number on him," Scott admitted. "So I couldn't tell you."

"Then you can't possibly know if it's a victor thing or not, can you?"

"Clara, you're just proving my point," he countered. "If it's just a Logan thing — then get ready for him to disappear. Again."

"Right. I know the guy's story. It's a miracle he's here at all — _victor_ thing or not, and it is a thing. Try giving him a little bit of a chance. He's helped the kids improve by leaps and bounds. And hey. Guess what? _He likes you._ "

Scott stared at her for a second before he waved her off. "It's too early for jokes, Clara."

"It's not a joke," she said, eyes flashing. "I'm not the Creed to lie for kicks, Scott." With that, she turned away from him and swept off, looking supremely irritated with him.

Scott watched her go for a second before he grumpily made his way over to the knives station, where Falsworth was going over safety rules. He went to the weapons rack to look over the blades they had there and grabbed a few for throwing. It was actually pretty satisfying to hear the _thunk_ every time they hit the wood dummy, though it didn't totally get rid of his bad mood, especially when he spotted Clara _not_ doing any of the stations.

 _This is what happens when you partner with a Creed_ , he thought grumpily as he reached for another throwing knife and found the redhead from One at the weapons rack as well.

"Looks like your partner's a little upset. What happened with her?" Jean asked with a dismissive glance Clara's way. "Awfully emotional over nothing."

Scott shrugged as he picked out another two knives. "She just doesn't get what's happening," he grumbled. "Even when I'm _trying_ to warn her so she's prepared for it."

"Yeah? What's the dispute?" she asked, looking genuinely interested. "And why wouldn't she listen to you? You're clearly the brains over there."

For a moment, Scott didn't answer except to throw both of his knives with a loud _thunk_. When he did turn back her way, he was still annoyed as he said, "Doesn't really matter. If you know anything about Seven, it's that the mentors are stupid and the drama is overplayed. Great place to be stuck for a week."

"It can't be all bad if you're there," she said with a little smile that was lost entirely on him.

He shook his head. "It's been the same old crap for the last year. Nothing to be done about it except to stay clear of the whole mess," he muttered, mostly to himself, before he headed to the target to pry his knives back out.

She frowned as she watched him. He clearly wasn't getting it. But when he came back, she took the more direct route and popped up on her toes to steal a quick kiss. "Lighten up, big guy. We're not in a fight to the death yet."

Scott was totally gobsmacked by the move, eyes wide for a long moment before the very corner of his mouth twitched up. "Yet," he repeated.

"See you later," Jean said with a little blush before she cut out of the knives station and moved on to other things.

* * *

 _July 4_

 _Triskellion_

* * *

Simmons almost wasn't surprised anymore that when Logan came in, it was always because he had managed to get himself more hurt than he had any right to be on whatever missions he was running for Fury. This time, she was more surprised by the timing than anything else, and she was already shaking her head as he came in. "Really? Don't you have other things you're supposed to be doing besides getting yourself all…" She gestured at the bruising she could already see even with his shirt on.

"I should be sleeping," he pointed out. "But seeing as the last time I crashed, _this_ happened, I figured I better get it checked before I get shot again." He paused and tipped his head a bit. "Probably later tonight."

She dropped her shoulders and tutted at him as she looked him over. "What do you mean this happened while you were asleep?" She almost couldn't help the teasing smile. "You didn't have a violent sleeper anywhere near you."

He chuckled at that and had to smirk. "No, that might have had a more pleasant outcome. This was from a violent sociopath. I was trying to rest up, and Vic got a hold of me."

Simmons fell into a glare at that and started to shake her head. "Ooh, if I was two feet taller…"

"Didn't stop me, and it didn't stop the little girl that creamed him the day before."

"Oh, I like her already. Which one was that?" Simmons asked, brightening considerably.

"Twelve," he said with a little smirk. "She's got a shot. Unless she falls on her sword to save her partner, which she's intending to do."

"That's the darling little star child who volunteered for his sweetheart, right?" Simmons asked with a sort of sigh and a smile.

"Yep. And the one who spotted my little problem — or I probably would have waited until later in the week."

Simmons gave him a disapproving look at that one. "This is not the kind of thing you should wait on, especially if you plan to be shot at later," she pointed out.

"Figured I wouldn't come to you unless I was hacking up blood."

"Honestly!" She sounded scandalized as she shook her head at him. "Do you hate it when I poke you with needles that much?"

He looked up at her a bit sheepishly. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Well, if you're scared of needles — or if you don't like medical — or whatever it is, I'd _like_ to make you more comfortable, for how often you're here," she said.

"Don't worry about it," he said with a little shake of his head. "I can take it."

"Do you want a lollie when I'm done?" she teased. "For being such a good patient?"

"You're not making this any better, doc."

"And you're scared of needles," she countered with a little smile.

"I'm not scared of _needles_."

"Well, since you seem to be unable to give me a cogent reason for your irrational distaste for Medical, I'm just going to have to assume that's a lie," she said.

"You're right. I have _no_ reason to be anti-medical _at all_ ," he said in a dead tone.

She gave him a bit of a look as she finished up, then shook her head. "Right then. Well, I don't have any lollies or stickers for you today, but I'll be sure to stock them," she said. "So you can go back and get some sleep — or if you like, you can steal a couch here. We tend to have fewer surprise attacks here."

"That's probably the smarter bet for the time being," he said. "I needed to see the details on the run for later anyhow. And I have a few hours. Point me."

Simmons smiled as she pointed him toward a couch close by. "Just make sure to put Skye's laptop somewhere it won't be knocked over. That's her favorite couch for curling up — and she keeps stealing the corner spot from the rest of us." Simmons let out a pretended longsuffering sigh. "Some of us like to lay out and read a good book too, and it's the best spot in the house — so to speak."

"Thanks," he said with a half smile before he headed over. He didn't bother to look at what was on the screen before he moved the laptop to a nearby table — careful not to unplug it before he wadded up the flannel that he'd taken off and curled up to try to grab a couple hours of sleep. It wasn't far into the training day, and he had plenty of time to kill, even if Jess was going to give him twenty questions on where he disappeared to later.

* * *

 _Training Center for the Tributes_

* * *

There were so many stations to get through in only three days, and Kamala really wanted to be sure she got through as many as possible, though she wasn't going to even try on some of the weapons. She did try the knives station for a while, but it sort of made her queasy, because the targets were person-shaped, and while it was all well and good punching Logan's hand on the roof, throwing knives as people-shaped targets… was not something she could really do.

She put the knives back where she'd found them and was backing away from the weapons rack when she ran into someone, and she spun around to find a big wall of muscle inches away from her.

Kamala couldn't help but let out a little squeak as she scrambled back away from the huge Ten boy, who hadn't moved a muscle as she muttered out a quick apology. He didn't step aside for her, either, so she quickly skirted around him, still fairly wide-eyed as she took off for someplace safer …. like the traps station. It looked like the nice boy from Eleven was having a _blast_ with the kid from Three.

Miles was wiping tears from his eyes from laughter when Kamala arrived, and he beamed at her and waved her over. "Hey, Kamala!" he said. "Have you met Trevor yet? He's hilarious!"

Kamala shook her head 'no' and then waved at Trevor, her mouth still a little dry from her encounter with the Ten boy. "Hi."

"Come on, come on — _join us_ ," Trevor said with a broad smile. "We're having a great time _watching the competition_." He said the last bit in a stage whisper, his nose scrunched up as he smiled her way. "They're awfully _serious,_ don't you think, little bird?"

"Yeah," she breathed out, nodding a few times. "That guy back there has all the personality of a brick wall."

"Well, at least that means he matches the outside," Miles pointed out as he patted the chair next to him, and Kamala gratefully took a seat.

"Shouldn't you be actually, I don't know, working on traps here or something?" Kamala asked, but Miles just shook his head.

"We can do that _while_ we people-watch. And people-watching is way more fun. Like… watch the Fours and tell me that's not the strangest relationship ever. He treats her like a goddess, and she treats him like a servant, and I don't even know which is weirder." Miles gestured toward the Fours, where Skurge was, in fact, retrieving arrows for Amora at the archery station.

"That can't possibly last long," Trevor said as he leaned back and crossed his ankles in front of him. "And my district partner's a walking time bomb. Buncha fruitloops this year." He turned toward Kamala. "Not like yours is much better, though. At least they'll be out of the breeding pool."

She glanced between Trevor and Miles for a moment before she gave Trevor a hesitant sort of smile. "Yeah, I'm not really … he's … I'm staying away from him."

"Stay away from the other Ten, too," Miles whispered her way, pointing toward where the girl in question was simply slicing a dummy to bits at the sword station with particular glee.

"Well, not _everyone_ is crazy," Kamala said. "I actually like the kids in Seven."

"Really?" Miles leaned forward, clearly interested. "Even the one with the unfortunate family resemblance? Because I gotta tell you, I've been avoiding her like the plague. I do _not_ want to wind up as cat food."

"She's nice, and so is her partner — _and_ their mentor," Kamala defended.

"I thought they had different mentors," Trevor said with a little frown. "One of 'em is supposed to be dealing with the big violent one, innit he? Or she?"

"Well, _technically_ …" Kamala waved him off. "But nobody _wants_ that guy as a mentor. Like, I certainly don't want _mine_."

"Ridiculous," Trevor said. "Of course. I've got a lovely one, don't I? Lucky boy that I am. Absolutely _no_ sense of humor on him, but he is a lovely sort of chap, I think."

"Mine's pretty great, too," Miles said with a nod. "Only I've got one with a sense of humor. Sam actually laughs at my jokes."

"Well, I think I'll leave you two kiddies be. My district partner looks like she's getting too confident. Time to bring her down a notch into reality again." He gave them both a little wave with the tips of his fingers. "Until next time, then!" He got up and headed right for the girl from Three and promptly knocked over half of the sword rack when he got close to her, causing a major commotion as he loudly apologized for wrecking her pick up line as she talked to the swordsman. "I'm sure the thirty years or so between you is nothing at all! Like a drop in the ocean, really! Lookit! You've got the same facial hair pattern! _It's fate!"_

Kamala couldn't help but to laugh at Trevor's antics. "He's nuts, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but I think it's the harmless kind of nuts," Miles said with a little laugh.

"Which is rare, with everyone else around here," Kamala pointed out, grinning.

"Yeah, well, us non-psychos gotta stick together," Miles teased.

"Ooh, that reminds me." Kamala turned toward Miles with a big grin on. "You should come up to the roof sometime. A whole bunch of other kids come up there after training, and you could really learn stuff away from… you know." She gestured at the girl from Two, who was more than keeping up with the Swordsman's training. "The scary-good competition."

"I thought this was all the training we got to do?" Miles said with a tiny frown.

She grinned at him and shook her head, though she raised her finger to her lips when she noticed that her district partner was headed their way. "I'll tell you later!" she promised, zipping off so she wouldn't have to be anywhere near Brock and leaving Miles a bit confused in the process.

* * *

At the knots station, Alex was staring at the bit of rope in his hands like it had betrayed him as he slowly shook his head. "Yeah, I'm definitely not getting this," he muttered as he tried to find a way to undo… whatever mess he'd made. It wasn't coming undone easily, either, even though they were supposed to be doing slip knots.

"Are you trying to make a noose?" Kitty asked as she took the spot next to him. "Because I'm not sure how helpful that's going to be."

Alex let out a long sigh and shook his head. "No, I was trying for… you know what, never mind." He tossed aside the length of rope and looked her way. "What station were you just at? Maybe I'll go there, try something else. Clearly, knot-tying is not for me."

"I did climbing, but I was thinking about doing the wave pool," she said. "The more interesting ones are super busy, and the girl from Two is hogging the swords."

"That… I think I could actually _do_ that," Alex said with a little nod. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course I don't mind," she said with a little smile. "What kind of partner would I be if I did?"

He matched her smile and got to his feet, leading the way to the wave pool with what was more his usual grin instead of the frustrated look he'd been wearing that looked way too much like his older brother all morning. But it was hard _not_ to be frustrated when he was having a hard time getting anything done at _any_ of the stations. The best station he'd had luck with so far was, well, it was just _typical_ for Nine to be good with a sickle.

He and Kitty split ways to change quickly before they met back up to get the rundown of how things were going to go — and Alex was relieved to hear that it was actually pretty straightforward. Just stay above the water. Don't drown. He could do that.

He and Kitty hit the water, and they swam out to the middle of the pool before the waves got started, but they started out small, gauging their strength.

"This is actually fun," Alex called out Kitty's way with a little grin as he tread water. "We should get bigger waves; this is, like, a rocking chair."

"Of course you're a natural in the water," Kitty said with a little laugh. "Makes perfect sense. Being from a place _nowhere near water._ "

"Hey, don't knock it," Alex called her way as he started to float on his back with his hands behind his head. "I think I could live here."

"Then I hope we get a stretch of ocean for you," she said with a little smile.

"That would be _great_!" Alex agreed before he turned over in the water and started to swim circles around her. "Don't worry; I'd keep you from drowning," he teased.

She had to roll her eyes at him, but at least he was in a better mood now, positively beaming when they got out of the pool and toweled off.

"What next, Alex?" Kitty asked as she tried to wring the water out of her hair.

"I dunno — you said you were going to climb, right? Why don't we do that?"

"Sounds good," she said with a little smile. "Maybe you've got a little Seven in you, surfer boy."

Alex shook his head. "We'll see, but I think you're confusing me for my older, not nearly as cool brother."

"I could never confuse you for someone so uptight," Kitty said quietly, though she was giggling a bit.

He grinned at her and grabbed her by the arm. "Come on, Kitty. I'll race you."

* * *

Bucky had no idea what to do with himself anymore. He'd already looked through the stations he thought might do him some good, and there wasn't anything for him to do now but to just … work out.

Lucky for him, no one was at the weight machines and gym area when he got there, and after fiddling with a few machines, he headed over to the heavy bag and started to hit it. He wasn't being particularly involved with it until the creep from Six made his way over to work the other heavy bag. This guy seemed to be overly focused on Bucky as he hit his bag — glancing up at him before almost every hit, smirking to himself when he started hitting the bag harder.

For a moment, Bucky thought the guy was being a jerk, but then he kind of got mad when he realized that this Brock creep was trying to intimidate him. He let out a huff of a laugh and decided to fight fire with fire and began to amp up his hits on the bag he was working.

It wasn't long before the two of them were pounding the bags outright — and both bags were swinging with every hit, though the more that Brock looked over at Bucky, the more irritated Bucky got, and it wasn't too long before Bucky really let loose and simply creamed the bag with a heavy right that split the seams and dumped sand all over the boxing area.

In an instant, there was a whistle blown, and the two boys were ushered from the area for clean up and for the attendants to hang a new bag. But all it really ended up being was an opportunity for the two boys to glare at each other — and Bucky was sure to let the kid know what he thought.

"Let me know when you catch up, ugly." Bucky shot him a little smile before he turned and walked away from the whole scenario, ready to go find his partner — wherever she'd gone off to.

Actually, Jessica hadn't gone all that far, and while she had been thinking about going to the climbing course after the Nines vacated it, she stopped to watch the ridiculous display of machismo going on at the weights station instead, shaking her head to herself as she watched her partner and the guy from Six posturing at each other.

It was dumb, and even though she had to smirk when she saw him take a parting shot at the Six guy, it didn't make the whole display any less caveman-like. Honestly.

She didn't even notice that someone else had been watching the show until she heard the boy from One right behind her as he leaned over her shoulder. "I take it you're not impressed?" he asked, with a look somewhere between mild interest and pure disdain as he watched the crew cleaning up the sand from Bucky's hard hit.

Jessica took a step forward first before she turned to glare at him, her arms over her chest. "With the posturing? No," she said, though she was glaring at him and not looking toward the weight station in the least.

"It's such a shame not everyone realizes you need more than brute force to win these Games," he sighed, though he didn't seem the least bit troubled by it.

"Right. Well. Good luck with your … whatever," Jessica said as she looked him up and down. "Brute force clearly isn't going to be your friend."

He smirked her way. "No, but brains trump brawn every time, I've always found."

"Then it's too bad you don't have either," she shot back.

His eyes flashed for a moment as he glared at her. "That wasn't very nice."

She frowned at him as she walked away from him backwards. "I missed the part where we're supposed to make _friends_ here."

"Clearly." He continued to glare her way before he sneered. "Be careful, my dear. It doesn't do to be _alone_ in the arena."

"Right. Good luck making friends. I'm sure that personality won't get in the way at all."

He stared after her for another long moment before he spun on his heel and stalked off, leaving Jessica shaking her head over the whole thing. A whole bunch of posturing, crazy guys. That's what she had to deal with.


	10. The First Rule of Tiny Fight Club

**Chapter 10: "You Broke The First Rule of Tiny Fight Club, Kamala"**

* * *

 _July 4_

 _Rooftop of the Tribute Training Center_

* * *

After dinner, Kitty and Alex left their suite to head up to the roof — after Scott had insisted they drop by to get in as much training as they could. Apparently, there was a good crowd up there, and as Kitty had pointed out, every little bit helped when they were about to be in a fight to the death.

Alex had hemmed and hawed a bit over the whole thing — he didn't want to seem like he was letting his older brother push him around — but he had finally agreed. He insisted, of course, that it was only because Kitty had swayed him. Not Scott.

They were only part of the way up to the top floor when the elevator opened to admit a new passenger, and Peter Quill walked in from Ten's floor. He looked just as surprised to see the two of them as they were to see him — especially coming out of the wrong floor — before he broke into a grin. "Going up?"

"As a matter of fact," Kitty said with a little smile. "We are."

"Great, me too," Quill said as he leaned against the side of the elevator. "Little bird told me that's where the party was and suggested a responsible adult — but you got me instead."

"Is that what the birds have to say about it?" Kitty asked with a little laugh.

"Oh yeah. All of 'em. The mocking kind and the falcons," he said with a crooked grin.

She shook her head and tried to keep from laughing. "I didn't realize you were all so close."

"Sam likes to fly — so do I. And Bobbi knows a lord when she sees one," Peter laughed, though this time the smile wasn't quite as broad. But he quickly shook it off. "Anyway, someone said it would be fun, and I'm all about that. So — what's the game?"

"I have no idea," she admitted. "This is our first trip up there, but Alex's brother said we needed to go."

"Great, we can find out together," he said, grinning her way as the doors opened up to the top floor, and he reached across her to open the door to the stairwell, the grin turning somehow wider when she returned it.

"You're awfully flirty for someone that's engaged," Alex said with his arms crossed.

Peter looked Alex's way for a moment, losing his grin, and then shrugged. "Like I said, I'm all about the fun. And I'm not married yet, genius."

Alex raised an eyebrow at that, and Kitty rolled her eyes as they headed up the stairs together — though this time without as many wide smiles from Peter.

But even Peter was a little surprised by what they found when they got to the roof. Logan had most of the kids paired off, and they were all trying to break holds back and forth. Or, for the new kids — they were learning how to hit and block, with the newest little victor making his way through them, correcting who he could where he could when there was a problem.

For a little while, Peter was simply content to watch the whole thing, but then the doors opened to admit one final latecomer, and little Miles Morales let out a disappointed noise. "Oh. Everyone's already paired up. I didn't know this was a bring-your-own-date situation."

"Come on, kid," Logan said. "Start with me, and I'll pair you off with a good match."

Miles tipped his head to the side for a second before he nodded. "O-kay, but you should know, I'm hard to shop for."

Logan stopped for a second and looked at him hard. "Just … hit me."

Miles balled up both hands in fists but almost couldn't help saying, "In the hand, right? You don't want me to find your glass jaw in front of all the kiddies?"

"No danger of that. You can try if it makes you feel better, though."

But Miles just shook his head. "No, that's okay — I just—"

"Yeah. couldn't help yourself. I know."

He grinned at Logan for that one and then hauled back and hit his hand with all the force of a very skinny thirteen-year-old kid.

"I can't believe it," Logan muttered as he showed Miles how to make a fist right. "You even hit like him. Jesus."

"I've never been compared to a god before," Miles said with a horribly troublemaking grin.

In spite of himself, Logan had to smirk at that. "The new Spider brat, right? It fits."

"Man. Spider- _Man_ ," Miles corrected him. "And yeah, Gwen already okay'd the name, so… hopefully, the shoes fit right."

"Oh, they fit. Just don't make the same mistakes, alright?"

"I won't," Miles promised before he paused. "And ... just for clarification purposes… those are…?"

"Don't be too damn noble for your own good," Logan said. "Especially for a couple guys that don't really deserve it."

"That sounds more like Gwen than me," Miles said. "She's, like, _way_ nice. I'm surprised she's not up here. What have you got against Spider-Gwen?"

"Not a thing. Bring her if she needs it. Looks like we got half the kids in this thing anyhow."

"Yeah, I noticed. How many were you planning on adopting before the week is out?" he asked, gesturing out over the crowd.

Logan let out a sigh and looked around for a moment. "It's kinda snowballin', isn't it?"

Miles nodded gravely and rested a hand on Logan's shoulder. "It's alright — the overtaxed dad look is good on you."

"Shut up and get to work."

Miles just straightened up and shot him a salute. "You got it, Dad."

Logan rolled his eyes and let out a breath, working with the kid for a little while longer — at least until Miles was putting enough force behind his hits that he was making some actual progress.

"Ready to learn how to block? Scott's a pro." He called over to Scott, who had gotten to a point that he looked ready to do something else. "Miles needs a coach to block. Got a few?"

Scott nodded and made his way over. "He show you how to punch without breaking anything?" he asked Miles with a small grin, and when Miles enthusiastically gave him two thumbs up, that was enough for Scott to take the much younger boy and show him some blocks further out from the others, though of course Kamala was close enough to call out encouragement the whole time they worked together.

Kitty, meanwhile, dove right into the training — and was outpacing Alex a bit faster than the younger Summers could keep up. Finally, Alex let out a groan of frustration and shook his head, holding both hands up. "I'm out."

"No you're not," Logan said. "Come over here — let's fix what you're doing wrong." He looked over to the other victors hanging around. "One of you can help her, can't you? She just needs someone to hit."

"I'm pretty good at that," Peter said with a self-deprecating laugh, though when he stepped forward and slid his gaze to Kitty, it turned into a crooked smile instead. "Don't feel bad if you break things either."

"Is this how you _want_ me to hit on you?" she teased with a grin.

"Oh, are you hitting on me?"

"Well. I'll be hitting you. Kind of the same thing, right?"

"No, no, there's a very crucial difference," he said, grinning even wider as he held up both hands. "Want me to explain it?"

She giggled a bit and grinned wider. "Go for it. I'm here to learn, remember?"

The grin just widened as he nodded her way. "Alright. Hit me first," he said, holding up his hands, and when she did, he nodded once before he put both hands down, took a step forward and draped an arm around her shoulders, leaning in close to whisper, "And this is hitting _on_ someone. See the difference?"

"I might need to see that again," Kitty said with a little smile.

"Whatever you say," he agreed, the grin threatening to split his face as he took a step back and held up both his hands again. "Alright. From the top."

"You sure you're not working your way up to holds a little quicker than normal?" she asked as she took up a fighting stance.

"If I was, would you hit me or hit on me? Remember the difference, now."

"Guess we'll have to wait and see," she replied with a troublemaking sparkle in her eyes.

He laughed at that before he started to go through the basics of a wrist hold for her, skipping right ahead at her suggestion as he showed her where he would grab her and how to escape it. "Don't worry about hurting me, either, 'cause I can take it," he said.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Kitty replied. When they started to work on breaking holds, though, once he got her into a tough one that she couldn't remember how to break, she looked over her shoulder at him and darted forward to steal a quick kiss and slip out of his grip.

It absolutely worked as a way to distract him and get him to let her go, though he just kept grinning wider and wider her way.

"So … I used what I could," Kitty said with a shrug. "Oops."

"That wasn't what I'd call an 'oops.'" Peter grinned crookedly at her. "Way to think on your feet."

"Sorry," she said with a little smirk.

"Hey, don't apologize," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to figure out a clever way to return the favor without risking the wrath of the whatevers."

She looked down at her watch for a moment and bit her lip. "Well. You still have like an hour to figure it out."

"Then maybe we should try that hold again," he suggested, the grin only widening.

Jess and Logan shared a look at the flirting before they both pointedly turned the other way to try and at least act like they had no idea what was going on — both of them heading to different pairs of kids to move them forward a bit. Logan headed to Kamala and Jess to Miles and Scott.

"Isn't he… engaged?" Kamala whispered to Logan when he met up with her, her gaze on Kitty and Peter and her eyes wide.

Logan nodded slowly. "Not exactly by choice," he said at nearly a whisper before he held one finger up to his lips.

"Like an arranged marriage or… like something else?" she asked in her quietest possible whisper, even more wide-eyed than before.

Logan looked over at Peter for a moment. "Let's just say yes." He adjusted his stance. "Okay. I want you to learn some take downs."

Kamala straightened up and dropped her wide-eyed look as she broke into a huge grin. "Bring it on!"

They started fairly small — leg sweeps and how to take someone off balance, but it wasn't too long before Logan decided she'd graduated. "Okay. I'll have to get you a new target," Logan said. "What I want to show you works best on someone a lot bigger."

"What about Scott?" Kamala asked, gesturing at where Scott was working on holds with Miles and Jess.

"Scott's tall, but you need someone bulkier," Logan said. "Let him catch up to you anyhow. He needs to learn the holds and breaks too."

"He'd learn faster if he wasn't teaching," she teased.

"I think he learns _by_ teaching," Logan said. "Helps him cement it better."

"Does it help you?" she asked, honestly curious.

"I haven't shown you guys anything that new," he admitted.

She took a step back and made a sweeping gesture with her arms. "Show me?"

"Alright," he said, glancing toward Jess for a moment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to decide what simple martial arts move would work best for her and wouldn't be too complex. "Throws." He took a couple steps forward and started to explain how she could throw him over her head — and to her shock, she got it on the first try.

"Oh _wow_! Oh wow — oh… are you okay?" she asked belatedly, her eyes shining with excitement.

"I'm fine," he said from the ground. "That wasn't bad. Don't hesitate next time."

"But your ribs — I don't want to hurt you—"

"I got looked over, I'm okay. Don't worry about it. Just bruised. Nothin' broke." He got to his feet and brushed off some of the pebbles that had stuck to him.

"Well, _somebody's_ gotta look out for you for all the looking out you do for us," she pointed out. "That's all I'm saying. But.. if you're okay…" Her eyes sparkled. "I really, really want to do that again."

"Whenever you're ready," he said, taking up the same position.

When Kamala did the same thing and broke into delighted laughter, the two of them found that they had an audience as Kitty had made her way over to watch with a grin of her own. "Can I learn that too?"

"Sure," Logan said before he got to his feet again and simply started to explain it to her, though Peter was watching with interest too. "You just need to use your opponent's size against them. It's all just leverage."

"Something you've gotta keep in mind when you're his size," Peter teased almost without thinking about it.

"You might want to learn this one yourself, hot shot," Logan teased. "Before you pick out your china patterns."

Peter gave him a _look_ for a second before he broke into a little smirk. "Think I can aim it so a, um, certain mutual friend hits a certain table of tools of his?"

"Or a pair of idiots with a shared brain maybe?"

"Right. Hypothetically speaking of course."

"While you're going to your part-time job," he teased. "Cell jockey."

"I thought _this_ was my part-time job," he shot back as Jess looked at the two of them like she couldn't believe they were _joking_ about this.

"No, this is the one you gotta keep so they can prove you're still breathing."

"Have I mentioned how much I love that part of the job?" Peter asked, mostly serious this time. "Because I do."

"It's a burden that I'm glad is yours alone. By the way."

"Don't be jealous now," Peter said with a ghost of a smirk.

"Come on, Lord-lapdog or whatever you're going by now. Let Kitty throw you."

"Star Lord. Come on, is that so hard?" Peter whined jokingly, though Kitty just shook her head at him as Logan walked her through the steps one more time so she could, in fact, throw Peter over her shoulder.

"Perfect for handsy first dates," Logan called out. "Nail him."

Peter just laughed from the ground as he grinned up at Kitty. "Is that what I am?"

"Handsy? Not by my count, no," she said with a laugh as she offered him a hand up.

He took the offered hand and got to his feet, though he didn't release her hand either and used it to pull her over to steal a kiss back before he broke into a little laugh. "How 'bout now?"

She tipped her head to the side. "No hands — still not handsy." She broke down laughing as Scott shook his head nearby.

"Logan's Dating Service Express," Miles called out over Scott's shoulder.

"Do not drag me into this, Spider brat," Logan said.

"He has issues with names," Miles stage-whispered to Peter. "Don't feel bad. It's a moral failing of his."

"You can throw me if you want, but I'm going to try to get someone bigger tomorrow," Logan told him. "Not always about height."

"I can show you how," Kamala offered brightly. "Scott, come here and be my partner so Miles can see to throw Logan."

Scott glanced at Miles for a second before he couldn't help but smile at Kamala's enthusiasm. "Okay."

Logan gave him a little smirk as he took up position to let Kamala try to explain it to the boys and offered his arm when she was ready. And of course, there was no mistaking the look of delight when she threw him as she was clearly having a blast — though Miles peppered Logan with a few clarifying questions when it was his turn to try. He was clearly a bit nervous about it.

"You're overthinking it," Logan said. "Just give it your best shot. You've seen it done a few times now."

Kamala nodded from where she was working with Scott. "Yeah, see — look!" She demonstrated this time by tossing Scott with particular glee. "Easy peasy!"

Miles screwed up his whole face in concentration before he took a deep breath and — to his surprise — actually managed to throw Logan, though it wasn't nearly as graceful as Kamala had been.

"See? No big deal," Logan said from the ground before he sat up. Hide it all he wanted, getting chucked over and over was actually starting to hurt.

"She makes it look easier," Miles said, gesturing at Kamala.

"That's because you're still overthinking it."

"I'm just thinking of the angles, and…"

"Overthinking it. Yeah. That's what I said."

"You teach this kind of stuff to the original Spidey?" Miles asked as he offered Logan a hand up.

He paused before he took Miles' hand and let out a breath. "No. I didn't know this back then."

"Oh." Miles tipped his head to the side and fell quiet for a moment before he nodded. "Well… that's good for me, then. Gotta have something to give me a leg up with big shoes to fill like that."

"You're doing fine!" Kamala called out to him encouragingly, flashing him a double thumbs up before she went back to working with Scott with a huge grin on her face — she clearly enjoyed being the teacher this time around.

"Okay guys," Jess said as she watched Logan wince when Miles threw him again. "Probably should wrap it up for tonight. And tomorrow night, the Careers are coming up here, so … where should we go?"

"We can use our suite," Billy offered quickly. "It's not like we're using it right now anyway, and Black Bolt won't mind, really."

"Noh might like the show," Logan said with a nod.

"He'll bring a soundtrack," America agreed, smirking the slightest bit.

"He probably will, that's not even a joke," Logan said. "Guy's got a soundtrack for everything."

"Then it's settled. We'll all meet in Twelve and kick butt to a killer soundtrack," America decided before she leveled a finger Logan's way. "Make sure your little sparkle stylist knows so she can come too."

"If you tell Noh, she'll know," Logan promised. "They're starting a line, after all."

* * *

 _July 4_

 _Rooftop Across From the Capitol Training Building_

* * *

Most of the Tahiti kids were scattered on various rooftops throughout the Capitol, with the goal being to make it through the night without being seen — and to gather as much intel as possible on how to get in ever closer to the inner rings of the Capitol buildings.

Kurt had gotten the closest of anyone and was happily camped out on the building right across from where all the tributes were training. The biggest threat he'd encountered so far was simply the fact that civilians with binoculars also wanted to be where he was, but the Sentinels were manning the buildings around the tower-like structure carefully. They just… hadn't noticed Kurt.

Kurt settled in with his own binoculars — much higher powered — and other surveillance equipment for the night, though even with his naked eye, he could see the occasional glimmer of the force field around the whole tower.

He had expected to see a tribute or two on the roof, since he remembered it being a pretty popular spot to go and get away from the craziness of the Games for a while, though he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was _Logan_ and his two tributes on the roof as night fell, and he couldn't help but smile to himself on seeing his old friend. Logan looked far better than he had the last time Kurt saw him — it was good for him to have those two to work with, to give him someone, something to focus on.

But to Kurt's surprise, more and more tributes kept coming up to the roof — and it looked like they were _training._ Not just the kind of training the Capitol teachers would do, but real, _helpful,_ one-on-one work. Both of Kate's friends were there, along with the little girl from Six — and Kitty and her district partner.

Kurt couldn't help but grin when he saw Kitty. He could tell she'd grown, and yet next to her district partner, she still looked tiny, like he remembered her. She would hate that.

He was still smiling to himself as he watched Logan's little group of kids work together. He wasn't surprised at all to find that Logan had managed to get himself in the middle of what looked like most of the youngest kids there in addition to his own tributes. He couldn't hear what was being said because of the security in place there — again, likely to keep civilians from getting insider information on the Games. A scrambler of some sort was in place to keep him from hearing the conversations, but he saw that the youngest, the little Six girl, was grinning like mad at Logan — that wasn't a surprising sight either.

What _was_ surprising, though, was Kitty working with the victor from Five, of all people. None of the Five tributes were up there, so Kurt wasn't sure what he was doing there, and he couldn't help but fall into a deep frown when he saw the unmistakable body language that meant Peter Quill was _flirting_ with her.

The two of them worked through holds together, and Kurt refocused his binoculars to get a better view just in time to see his old friend from home steal a kiss from the tall, blonde victor — and he couldn't help but drop his jaw.

" _Katzchen_ , what are you doing?" he muttered to himself. "Everyone there, and you pick not only the engaged person but the man at least four years your elder."

When the flirting didn't seem to stop in the slightest, though, Kurt let out a long sigh. He didn't like this the least bit. And if Kitty won, as he was hoping she would, she would return to find him married anyway — what _was_ she thinking?

Still, Kurt had to admit, it was _good_ to see her again. Not only that but it was good to see her grinning and clearly okay. Happy. Even if she was about to head into the Games, it looked like she at least had friends. She had support. And that gave him hope that she could make it through.


	11. Choose Your Career Path

**Chapter 11: "Choose Your Career Path"**

* * *

 _July 4_

 _Training Facility for the Tributes_

* * *

"You know, America, you could probably do some of these stations by yourself," Billy muttered as the older girl tried to steer him toward the stations she thought would best help him.

"I could," she agreed, giving him her best glare. "But _someone_ volunteered his stupid self, so guess where I am today?"

Billy let out a long sigh. He'd been stuck with America as a shadow for the whole time they'd been in the Capitol, and while he appreciated what she was trying to do, he really did, he also could have used some space. He knew he was better for things like plants, traps — he was excited about the pressure points Logan had promised to teach them that night. Stuff that he could memorize — that stuff he could do.

He had to admit, though, that it was nice having America around, because anyone who looked at him sideways very quickly regretted their decision, as America had absolutely no problems getting in anyone's face.

Today's offender was none other than the huge guy from Ten, who didn't so much look at Billy sideways as he just sort of stood in Billy's way as they were walking between stations, and that was all America needed to stand up on her toes and reach as far as she could to stick her finger in his face and read him the riot act.

She was actually drawing a bit of a crowd for that one.

"Um… America?" Billy called out as she went on about how many teeth she could fit down Arkady's throat at once. "It's fine, really, let's just go."

She turned his way for a moment with fire in her gaze, but then she shook her head the slightest bit, scoffed Ten's way, and then grabbed Billy by the arm. "Come on, Billy. Let's find somewhere more _civilized_ to be," she sniffed, dragging him off toward the plants station just because it was the closest one — though he wasn't complaining, since he was actually pretty good at that.

* * *

America wasn't the only one who was shepherding her fellow tribute — Scott seemed to be trying to do the same for Alex. It was the last day of training, and Alex really hadn't done much except discover how much he loved the wave pool, challenging a few people to swimming matches instead of actually getting anything _done_.

"Brothers, right?" Betsy said from behind Scott's shoulder. "Mine won't look at anything but what he already knows."

Scott spun in a bit of surprise to find Betsy there before he shook his head. "Older or younger?" he asked without saying anything about Alex's stupid decisions — which in itself was a great act of will, since the kid was _again_ swimming. This time with the pickpocket from Eight.

"In this case, he's the older one — but it's a little different when it's brother and sister, admittedly." Betsy gave him a muted smile and shrugged to herself.

"I wouldn't really know," Scott said, still guardedly. He didn't really know why a Career would be talking to him — besides Jean — and Betsy was a model to boot. So he _really_ didn't know why she'd be talking to him.

"I hope you don't have plans to kill me already," she said as she hugged herself loosely around the middle.

"Not unless we meet up in the arena," he said.

"Really? I didn't think you were the murderer type," she said, stepping a bit away from him.

He let out the slightest breath on seeing her wariness. "I'm not," he admitted. "But I'm not going to be an easy target for anyone either," he added quickly — because she was still a Career.

"I don't think we've met," she said. "Officially anyhow. I'm Betsy. Ex-model and never been in a fight." She put her hand out to say hello, hoping he'd be nice. "And between you and me, I don't want to be around the rest of the 'Careers'. They're all cutthroat."

Scott had to smile the slightest bit as he took her hand. "Scott Summers," he said. "And yeah — that seems to be a running theme this year."

"More than you know," she said, leaning a bit closer. "Watch out for the girl from One. She's a lot nastier than she lets on. She'll get in your head."

"She seemed alright to me," Scott said with a frown.

"I thought so too at first," Betsy said. "But I've seen her a little more than you guys have. Just be careful, okay?"

"I'm always careful," he said with an encouraging smile. He shook his head as he reevaluated her. If she'd never been in a fight — and she did really seem put out by the idea of killing anyone — then she was alright, by his estimation. "If you hate it so much, I'd say you're the one who should be on the lookout with those Careers."

"Oh, we're not going to stay with them," she said. "Though I probably shouldn't tell you that."

Scott raised both eyebrows. "That…. That's also a running theme this year, it seems," he muttered almost to himself. "Ditching your assigned partners, that is," he added quickly, though he couldn't quite stop the glance at the redhead from One.

"I don't know," Betsy said, looking around the room warily. "I just thought you should know, and I don't know that I'll get a chance to talk to you before all the horrible stuff starts. So just ... don't trust the Careers. And I know … I'm technically one .. but … don't do that to yourself."

"I'll… keep that in mind," he said, his head tipped to one side. "And if you really do ditch the Careers…"

"I don't expect anyone to welcome us," she said with a distressed look on her face. "I wouldn't either if I were in their shoes. It's okay." She gave him a little smile. "But it would have been nice to meet you under better circumstances."

"Good luck with your brother," he said with a little smirk.

"Good luck with yours," she said as she gave his arm a little squeeze. She tried for another smile and zipped off, her purple ponytail swinging behind her as she headed to the shelter-making station where her brother looked irritated that she'd spoken to Scott _at all._ Scott could hear him trying to keep his voice down as he asked 'why would you warn him?' — and that had Scott smirking to himself and shaking his head.

It was hard to figure out who to trust in these Games, but one thing was for sure — the Careers weren't nearly as stable as they thought they were. And Scott was pretty sure he could use that. Peel them off, ally with one of the non-Career Careers...

* * *

"Nope!" Jessica said loudly as she dragged Bucky away from Amora. The blonde from Four looked as if Jessica had just walked off with her favorite shiny object. "You don't need whatever she's peddling, big guy. I doubt they give shots for that kind of trouble."

Bucky tried to get his collar free from her grasp as he muttered, "I wasn't even _doing_ anything, Jessica. She just came up to _me_."

"Yeah, well. I'm sure it's no coincidence that she just 'came up' to nearly every guy in here, right? Check yourself. And shower. She's nasty," Jessica's drawl went flat as she dragged her district partner along.

"Did you shower after One's guy creeped on you? Because he's been hitting all the girls."

"I did. And I took an internal bath of alcohol to deal with the creep factor too," she said with a raised eyebrow. "Just in case."

"Seems like the Careers are just chock full of creeps this year."

"Well as long as they keep their VD to _their_ side of the line, I really don't care."

"Then why do you care when it's me getting creeped on? I know how to take internal alcohol baths."

"Because you're too stupid to see that it's a bad idea to let her creep on you like that," she said before she flashed him a very fake, very wide smile. "She's one of those give 'em an inch and they'll take the whole football stadium."

"Don't do that. That's the most terrifying smile I've seen all day," he teased.

"Great, I'll use it in the interviews. Maybe let Tivan wet his pants — it'll be historic."

"Steal all the glory before I even get there; I see how it is."

"You'll have plenty of time in the spotlight when you win, _Bucky._ " She popped the 'B' every single time she said his name just because it irritated him. And she knew it.

He rolled his eyes her way. "Got it all planned out, huh?"

"Look at your competition," she said, gesturing around them. "It only makes sense. I mean. The creepy Career pack is going to implode. Then the jackwagon in Ten will run everyone down. You already had the guy in Six crying over his oatmeal when you utterly humiliated him with your show of manliness at the gym," she had a fake breathless tone as she continued. "So it only stands to reason that the sweetie pies will just … probably die from exposure or _Ten_. It's all you."

"You should take up creative writing, Jones."

"Don't be hateful because I'm right," she said before she cracked him in the chest with the back of her hand. She was surprisingly strong for her size. "You'll see. Just make sure you thank me for making it as far as you do — protecting your virtue from the harpy in Four."

"Sure you're not going to win instead?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Jessica Jones: victor from Five. She let everyone else kill each other and strolled out of the arena without a scratch."

"Doubtful," she said with a little sigh. "My anger issues won't let me just _stroll_ anywhere," she added before she pulled the small bottle of amber fluid from her hoodie pocket and snuck a drink. "It's more of a stomp, really."

"Sorry — I meant to say strut," he said with a little smirk, pointedly ignoring the bottle until he could sneak some too.

"That is accurate then." She looked around at the available stations and raised her voice just enough that she was sure that the kids from Six and Eleven could hear her properly. "Come on, _Bucky_. Let's go find out how to sharpen our knives on the bones of our enemies. That's got to be a specialty around here somewhere, right?"

He laughed at her and shook his head. "What did I tell you. Strutting."

* * *

"Umm, there's no bone-sharpening course, right? I didn't miss anything?" Miles muttered to Kamala as the two of them were working at the traps station. They were both pretty good at it, too, their nets and knots sturdy enough to hold anything the instructor could throw their way.

"I don't think bone-sharpening is an actual thing," she said as she tried to finish tying the last knot on the sheet.

"It had better not be, because I don't want to have to worry about that on top of everything else. And from _Five_. What the heck — I thought that was _not_ one of the crazy districts."

"Every district has their outliers. I mean, I'm from Six," Kamala pointed out with a little smile.

"Yeah, but you don't count," Miles said, waving a hand. "You're too nice for… _any_ of this stuff."

She couldn't help but grin at that and let out a little laugh. "Don't go telling people that, now."

"Oh, no way. No, no, if anyone asks, Kamala Khan is a lean, mean fighting machine," he agreed, his eyes wide and serious before he broke into a laugh that he just couldn't stop, and she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"I could toss you across the room," she threatened.

"I know you could — but then you'd get in trouble for fighting," he countered, still grinning. "Besides, you're not a bone-sharpener."

"That's really not a thing."

"It is now. It's what the crazy people in these Games do, apparently," Miles shot back, looking over his net with a little nod of approval. "What do you think?" He held it up for inspection. "Think I'll catch anything?"

"It'd catch a spider man?"

"I was hoping for something a little bigger," he said with a grin. "I mean, I'm a great catch and all, but I'm the kind you keep, not the kind you — you know. _Gakh_." He mimed a stabbing motion and then pulled a horrible face.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that," she agreed. "The … stabbing. Thing. No."

"Don't think you'll have to, considering you've got both Sevens wrapped around your finger. How'd you do that, anyway?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Right place at the right time I guess," she said with a shrug.

"Well, I'm sure glad you did, anyway," he told her with a reassuring smile. "Otherwise, I'd've never been invited up, and I'd be missing out on the cool kids' club."

"I'm glad you're there," she said with a growing smile. "We need more jokes."

"Yeah, your two Seven buddies seem a little… serious. Or maybe that's just me?"

"Scott's just … an organizer, I think. And Clara…. I … don't know how much she can relax when she's half waiting for her brother to pop up."

Miles winced. "Yeah, that's the worst kind of surprise. _Poof! Victor Creed!_ " he mimed popping his head up with little claws.

She giggled a little and shook her head. "She's really good at handling him. At least... that's what Scott said."

"She'd sort of have to be," Miles pointed out, leaning back in his chair as two of the legs came up off the floor. "I mean ... it's got to be a survival instinct at this point, right?" He dropped back down so that all four legs of his chair were on the floor. "We should team up in the arena," he said seriously.

"Yes. We should," she agreed with a nod.

He let out a breath of relief on hearing it and grinned her way. "Oh, good. I was worried you'd say no, and then I'd be stuck solo spider-ing and begging Gwen to let me tag along."

"I think our group is pretty open as long as it's not a 'kill you as soon as you turn your back' thought," she said with a frown.

Miles put a hand over his heart. "I swear, I'm not gonna kill you, Kamala."

At that, Kamala just grinned down at her net, unsure what to say, and the two of them went back to work, this time with Miles moving on to running commentary about what the other tributes were up to when Kamala wasn't giving him much in the way of conversation — not sure what to do with her fun new spider friend.

* * *

 _Night of July 4_

 _Rooftop of the Capitol Building_

* * *

The traditional meeting of Careers always had the tributes from One, Two, and Four, though this year, the tributes from Three had been invited to the club. No one said out loud that it was because the Ones and Fours thought that the Braddocks were poor excuses for Careers, but it was definitely implied in looks and backward glances — especially when the two of them were the last to arrive on the roof for the meeting.

"Good of you to join us," Giuletta drawled as Brian and Betsy sat down across from her.

"I'm sure you're not too concerned with our presence," Betsy replied with a raised eyebrow. "Either way."

"Not really," Giuletta responded in a bored tone.

"Come now, ladies, can't we get along until _after_ the claxon bell and the killing?" Kilgrave tutted, shaking his head at them both.

"She's not hiding her intentions," Betsy said, sounding totally unconcerned. "He'd like to be sure all the sponsor money is handled before she tries to kill me."

"Well, that _is_ the way the game is played," Kilgrave pointed out with a light sigh.

"Then why fake the cordial tone?" Betsy asked him flatly.

"Because a lie is easier when practiced." Kilgrave gave her his best smile — and it was entirely off-putting to the ex-model.

"Then I guess it's time to hear what you've been rehearsing," Betsy replied with a far more polished smile.

"Yes, let's get this over with," Amora agreed. "I have better things to do than listen to posturing. Shall we just skip to the part where we agree on who to kill and pretend that the rest of the members of this little group aren't on our own private lists?"

"That would probably be for the best," Brian said as he watched her with a frown.

"Lovely." She flashed him a brilliant smile before she leaned forward. "So. Five had a tribute in the final fight last year, and his best friend is in it this year. But separate him from his little _handler_ of a district partner, and he's really no trouble at all."

"You have an in?" Giuletta asked, straightening up a bit.

Amora smiled sweetly at her. "My dear, he is your typical troglodyte. He'll be easy enough."

"And what about you, Kilgrave?" Jean prompted. "All those girls you've been chatting with. Did even _one_ of them manage not to smack you for your troubles?" She looked overly smug as she assessed him, knowing that he wasn't nearly as charming as he liked to think he was.

"Just who you'd expect. The youngest are feckless and fidgety — though we _will_ have a fight on our hands with Twelve's girl," he said, his hand drifting almost unconsciously down to his arm, which Jean knew the girl from Twelve had twisted behind him when he tried to touch her.

"You're simply not her type," Betsy said with a smirk.

"And _you_ are," Jean said with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps you could take one for the team."

"I'm not sure if that's a note of jealousy or not," Betsy said, shaking her head, which only had Jean's eyes flashing her way.

"Either way, she will be an issue. She's not afraid of any of us — not even Ten's latest entries into the insanity competition they seem to be in with themselves," Amora pointed out.

"She has a weakness — that little boy she's been protecting," Giuletta said. "She'd fall on her sword in an instant if she thought it would save him."

"That's true of just about everyone under age fifteen in this shindig," Trevor said, speaking up for the first time — and it wasn't the usual, airy accented speech the Braddocks were used to hearing from him. "All of the little ones in the outlier districts have protectors, friends, allies. They're easy enough to get close to, and the others will come when the little ones start screaming."

Both Betsy and Brian did a fine job hiding any shock that they had at Trevor's assessment — and at the total change in his tone and personality — though all it really did was seal it for the two of them: _run_. Far from this pack of wolves.

"You're all overlooking the pair of Sevens," Jean said quietly, though she looked rather smug as the others glanced her way. "They have the newest victor, not to mention sponsor interest with the family dramas — both with her brother and his. And believe it or not, they can fight. The Creed is dangerous, but even the skinny boy is amazingly good with knives."

"That's fairly typical of Seven though, isn't it?" Betsy said with a slightly disinterested expression.

"The lumberjack types with the brute strength?" Giuletta made a face. "Pretty much."

"These two are _smart_ , and they have the backing to keep up," Jean insisted before a wide smile spread over her face. "But he trusts me."

"Well that's it, then," Amora said with a light shrug. "Get one, and you'll be able to get the other — isn't that what we've been saying?"

Giuletta broke into a smile as she nodded her agreement. "And don't worry — I can make sure their partners hear them once we get started. They'll come running to us so fast we'll be down to the pack of us by Day Three."

"So, no creative deviations off of the norm then?" Betsy asked, trying to redirect the conversation from torture to tactics. "Simply take and defend the weaponry and supplies once the klaxon rings?"

"Why mess with what works?" Trevor asked lazily.

"Unless you have a better idea?" Amora challenged.

"I'm not entirely sure," Betsy said with a frown. "For all the plotting and planning, are any of you competent with weapons?"

Amora let out a 'tsk,' and Skurge actually chuckled the slightest bit. "You're talking to a warrior of Four," she said haughtily.

"I am aware. I was directing the question more to those that think themselves the brains of the operation." Betsy gave her a cold smile. "But it's nice to know how sensitive you are about it."

"Don't worry too much about that," Giuletta said with a little smirk.

"As barbaric as the methods are, we _were_ trained at the Academy," Kilgrave sniffed. "I can if I _must_ use weaponry."

"And really, isn't it more about keeping the weapons from others who would use them?" Jean pointed out.

"That only goes so far," Betsy said, turning toward both of them fully. "Especially on the heels of the victor that made his own weapons. I'm sure that struck some inspiration."

"Skurge will cut down any meager handmade weapons," Amora said with a lazy wave as Skurge grinned at her promise. "You have not seen him wield an axe."

"I'm sure he's as elegant as the trolls that bore him," Betsy said with a smile.

"Elegance doesn't matter," she laughed. "As long as the head is separated from the body."

"As must be the theme from Four this year," Betsy said with her nose in the air a bit.

Amora's eyes flashed, and she sniffed self-importantly before she simply stood up to leave. "Then if there is no alteration in the usual plan — and we know those who pose the greatest threat to us… I see no point in continuing to act as if we like each other."

"Yes, rush off to get your beauty sleep in, dear," Jean said with a little laugh.

"At least there's still hope for me," Amora shot Jean's way.

"Only with a team of stylists," Betsy added.

Amora glared at her before she swept off of the roof, with Skurge in her wake, before Trevor started to chuckle quietly. "That was beautiful, Braddock."

"She's horrible. And full of herself with no basis," Betsy said, though she looked a bit irritated at the girl still. "She hides behind her bodyguard."

"She'll come crashing down in her own time," Giuletta said with a shrug.

"Let's make sure not to be close to her when it happens," Brian muttered to Betsy.

"Do you have anything else to discuss?" Betsy asked the rest of them at large.

"Just a question," Kilgrave said, looking over both of them. "When it comes time to kill them, will you hesitate?"

"Of course not. Would you?" Betsy asked.

"Not in the least," he replied. He even broke into a little smile. "We'll have to see what happens when that bell rings, won't we?"

"We know what will happen when the bloodbath starts," Brian said. "My question is: who are you going for? So I can be sure to pick someone else."

Kilgrave licked his lips. "The girl from Five or the one from Twelve. Whoever I can get closest to."

"I want to hear the scores first," Betsy said. "No one's crossed me personally yet."

"Smart," Giuletta said with a little smirk. "Then we'll stay out of your way of whoever gets the highest score."

"We'll see how it goes," Betsy said with a matching smirk before she and Brian headed out.


	12. Mind Your Mentor

**Chapter 12: Mind Your Mentor**

* * *

 _Night of July 4_

 _District Twelve Suite_

* * *

Nobody was more surprised than Billy was at how well he was picking up that night's lesson. Logan had promised to teach the group of kids that usually met on the rooftops how to use pressure points, and all of Billy's reading, all his practice putting his friends back together after accidents in the woods, all his time keeping Tommy from getting himself killed — it was finally paying off for him.

Of course, America was pretty pleased about Billy's newfound talent. It was clear she had been convinced he was entirely useless when it came to ... well, _anything_ that they could actually count as defensive or offensive or related to fighting in any way. So it was nice to be good at something like this so that America would stop giving him a _look_ like she was so incredibly put-upon trying to keep him alive — like she wasn't the one to volunteer for that job in the first place.

Still, Billy was feeling pretty good about himself as Logan walked him through another few pressure points, and he just nodded along — probably not even realizing that he was nodding in time with the upbeat music that Noh-Varr was playing in the background as the blue stylist hung out in the living room of District Twelve's suite to watch the show, with Jubilee leaned into him with her head on his lap and her feet up on the arm of the couch.

"Well, now it really _is_ a party," Miles said as he ducked into the suite, looking around at the gathered group as he was already starting to bounce the slightest bit to the music on his way over. "We just need some snacks and sparkly lights…"

"Don't tempt them," America warned Miles, then pointed a threatening finger Noh and Jubilee's way. "Don't think about it."

"You act like I wasn't going to glitter bomb the hell out of you," Jubilee said with a grin.

"Do _not_ glitter bomb me," America glared. "That stuff doesn't wash out, and I'm _not_ going to my assessment tomorrow with glitter in my hair."

"Red glitter with blue and silver stars …"

America let out a little huff before she turned to point at Noh. "Control your line partner."

"That's simply not how this works," Noh replied easily.

Both Logan and Scott just laughed at America's insinuation that it was even possible. "At all," Logan agreed. "But feel free to try. I'm sure that won't start a war or anything."

"Yeah, good luck with that, seeing as she won't be able to get to me in a couple days anyway," America pointed out.

"I'll make sure to have Noh tuck some glitter into your parachute. You'll know it's yours from the star trail it leaves as it falls."

"You're going to get me caught by Careers," America countered, shaking her head.

"They're probably afraid of you," Jubilee said.

America had to smirk at that one and drew up her shoulders. "That's right they are."

"Why don't you focus on what we're doing now instead of worryin' about that crap," Logan muttered as he moved back to let Billy try out his pressure points on America for a little while. "Who wants to learn a new takedown?"

Miles shot his hand in the air. "Oooh, me first! Before Kamala gets here! Me!"

Logan waved Sam over to help. "It's a little complex — but if you can do the other ones, you can probably do this one too."

Sam just smirked as he crossed the room and stopped in front of Logan, shaking his head. "Is this what you've been doing the past two nights?" he asked Logan. "Jess said there was a party — didn't realize it was a literal thing."

"More or less," Logan replied. "Try not to flinch when I take you down. I don't want to break your neck."

"Comforting," Sam muttered. "Sure you should be teaching this? If these kids do it wrong…"

"For the smaller ones. If they do it wrong, it'll still hurt _you_ like hell."

Sam glanced over at where Miles was practically bouncing in place and had to let out a sigh. If there was anything he could do to help his incredibly young tribute… "Fine."

When Logan explained to the gathered smaller kids how to do the move, Sam just stared at Logan and shook his head. "That is not a real move."

"Yes it is," Logan countered. "And it works." But Sam — and Scott — were both looking like they just flat didn't buy it.

By that time, though, the rest of the little group had arrived to watch the show, and Miles was ready to burst with excitement and making little 'go on' motions with both hands at the pair of victors.

"Okay," Logan said. "Demo. Watch carefully." He took a quick step toward Sam and grabbed his arm with a twist, and in a couple quick movements, he'd yanked Sam down by his head, using his legs and keeping his hands free to stop Sam from fighting back — had he not been knocked senseless by the takedown. "Works best on much taller opponents."

From the ground, Sam just blinked up at Logan for a moment before he simply started to _laugh_. "Well. I was wrong."

"Told ja," Logan said as he offered Sam a hand up.

"Me next!" Miles called out, his hand shooting up to volunteer. "Right? I called it!"

Sam glanced over at Logan and just had to shake his head with a little smile. "Well, you _are_ here to learn," he told the excited kid, which just got Miles to break out into a _huge_ grin at the prospect of tossing his mentor.

Logan made his way over to help Miles, showing him exactly how to climb Sam fast and where to put the pressure on to flip him to the ground. They went over it until both Sam and Miles were ready, and then he simply stepped back and crossed his arms.

It wasn't the smooth takedown that Miles had been hoping for, and Sam obviously winced when he hit the ground. Miles covered his mouth with both hands, eyes wide, but Sam was quick to reassure his tribute. "That was really close," he said. "Close enough to count in the arena, anyway."

"Are you okay?" Miles asked through the cracks in his fingers, and Sam just nodded and pushed himself back to his feet.

"Fine as ever — want to try that again?"

Miles nodded, though he looked nervous about hurting his mentor again. But — after a few quiet suggestions from Logan — he tried the takedown again, this time much smoother. Sam positively _grinned_ from the floor as Miles went immediately into a whoop of celebration, punching the air excitedly as he spun around to face the others. "Did you see that?"

"Nice work," Logan muttered before he turned to the next eager student.

Since Sam was the tallest victor available, he found himself on the receiving end of several takedown attempts from the smallest of the group — though Peter Quill arrived after a while and gave him a break. But he didn't mind in the least when he saw the _huge_ grins on the youngest kids' faces as they went through the moves Logan showed them, clearly excited to have something that they could actually use when, in their regular training, Sam knew they were getting the brush off for the most part because of their age and total lack of experience. Not every trainer in the Capitol was like Danny Rand, who at least tried with every kid, even if he taught like a tall person.

"Got any tips for tall people?" America asked with a crooked smile. She was at best medium height, but of the gathered group, she was actually on the tall end and seemed to be enjoying it.

"Don't get in the little guy's way," Logan shot right back.

"Real helpful," she countered.

"Rand is actually pretty good for general knowledge," Jessica said. "So if you learned anything from him — you're probably fine."

"But that's not fair," Kamala said with her lower lip out a bit. "We get to learn all this cool stuff, and — and what about Mr. Super Tall over here?" She pointed at Scott in particular, who looked like he wanted to be left out of this argument.

"Hey — _I_ don't even know half of this stuff," Jess said with her hands up.

"Same stuff applies to taller people," Logan promised. "Just don't have to do as much climbing to get there."

Kamala nodded thoughtfully before she called out to Scott, "Come on, then! You gotta try this — it's actually really fun!"

"That's alright," Scott said, shaking his head. "I worked with Rand yesterday and today—"

Kamala put her hands on her hips. "This is so much cooler, mister," she informed him, sticking her finger out at him. "Come _on_."

Scott looked between Kamala and the other kids for a moment, clearly not wanting to get involved but also completely unable to say no to the thirteen-year-old with her hands on her hips in front of him. " _Fine_." He let out all his breath and crossed the span to stand with Logan and Sam and turned to Logan. "Can you walk me through it without the climbing part?" he had to ask, a bit of a smirk on.

"Sure," Logan said with a little smirk of his own as he started to take him through the steps and explaining only for Scott as to exactly how the angles worked in his favor before he stepped back and let him decide how to start.

Scott had nodded through the whole explanation before he tried the move on Sam, surprised for only a moment when it worked and Sam hit the ground exactly as Logan had explained it before he started to smirk quietly.

Logan's expression didn't betray anything. "Best first try so far … keep going."

"Sure I'm not tying up your test dummy?" Scott couldn't help but smirk as he helped Sam back to his feet.

"You got anywhere better to be, Sam?" Logan asked with a smirk. "Any big parties or dates you're sorely missin?"

"I'm good here," Sam said, returning the smirk as he got back into position so Scott could throw him again. "S'pposed to be mentoring anyway, right?"

"Go ahead, Scott," Kamala called out with an encouraging grin, which of course, just meant Scott had to do the move again.

"Wouldja look at that," America muttered to Clara, bumping shoulders with her as she tipped her head Scott and Sam's way. "He listens to the tiny one more than you," she teased.

"And yet, I am not insulted," Clara replied with her arms crossed.

"Well, he also listens to you more than the _other_ tiny one," America pointed out, this time gesturing at Logan with a huge smirk on.

"Well he's just an idiot for not listening to that one," Clara said. "Doesn't know what he's missing out on."

America smirked even wider. "Well, he's not wearing your rose-colored glasses," she teased.

"He still hasn't been properly introduced to my brother, so…. He's living in denial."

"Which one?" America asked with a little chuckle.

"Which brother?" Clara asked with a smirk.

"No — which one of these two idiots is in denial? Because they both seem to be deep in it to me," America laughed.

"Oh. The tall skinny one for some reasons, and the little one for others. The big one thinks the little one is a flake and the little one thinks the big one hates him. Still … unproven."

"Your district is a circus, Clara," America chuckled. "Honestly."

"You know, it has its moments?" she agreed. "Refined crazy. You know how I got my brother to back off, right? The reason he's not sticking his big nose into this?"

"I just assumed you hit him. It's very satisfying, and everyone should try it," America laughed.

"Satisfying, but that rarely does the trick long-term," she pointed out. "I just told him if he got in the middle of things or tried to screw up what I was doing, I'd step off my platform before it starts."

America turned her whole body to face Clara, the shock obvious. "What?"

"You have to make an impact with him," Clara defended. "Speak to him in a language he understands."

"You wouldn't _really_ , though, would you?" America asked.

"You know … the tribe back home talks about spirit animals? And you know what I think mine is? A bee. Because those little bees, when they sting you — it hurts. A lot. But they die to cause you that hurt. Yes. I am that spiteful."

America stared at Clara for a moment before she simply had to shake her head, torn between laughter and disbelief. "I can't decide if you're just crazy — or if I want to kiss you right now."

"Part of the Seven charm," she said with a cocky smirk.

"Clearly." America shook her head again before she almost couldn't help but add, "Of course, if I went for you, there'd be comparisons to last year's _romance_ , right, lover boy?" She grinned shamelessly Logan's way.

"Except this one might actually exist," Logan shot back. "More believable anyhow."

"And the players are cuter, too," America agreed, fluffing her hair to toss over her shoulder.

"Lies," Logan said, shaking his head and turning his back to her. "Delusional crazy chick."

The group of kids kept right up with their practice, going through takedowns and pressure points as well as reviewing some of what they had learned in the previous two nights. They were all occupied with their partners and practice when there was a knock at the door, and Logan was closest to it — though he didn't know who it could be, considering all the kids were there as well as the other three victors who had been interested in watching the circus. He almost wouldn't be surprised if it was Charlie checking in — that seemed like a move he'd pull.

Logan looked over to the kids and called out for them to stop before he made his way over to see who it was, and even Noh turned the music down before he opened the door to find the skinny little redhead from One.

"You lost?" Logan asked with a little frown, blocking her from just walking through the door.

"No. I was just on the roof when I heard the music," she said with a small smile. "It sounded like fun."

"Invite-only."

She frowned at that and kept trying to look past him. "But this isn't even your floor."

"Also not your damn business."

"What's so wrong about wanting to relax and party with the other kids?" she asked openly.

"Sound like you just left your party; you should go find them."

"I think I'd like this party better," she countered. "Better company."

"Be that as it may? Leave."

She held his gaze for a long moment with a deep-seated frown before she let out a huff and turned to head to the elevator — and Logan waited until she was in it before he turned back in to the party.

"Who was there?" Billy asked, genuinely curious as to who would be visiting his district's suite this late.

"No one that wanted to be friendly," Logan answered as he shut the door and turned back to them. "Just a nosy Career."

"Ooh, which one? Because actually, some of them aren't so bad this year," Miles said with a grin.

"Yes, they are," Logan said with a scowl. "You just believe their crap. And it doesn't matter which one it was."

"Yeah, _chico_ , just stay away from _all_ of them," America advised.

"Trevor's not so bad though," Miles defended. "He's crazy, but he's the _hilarious_ kind of crazy. I mean, you should hear him narrate some of the goings on in training!"

"The tech guy's kid? No," Logan said, shaking his head. "He's just like his father. Calculating."

"Well then what about the girl from Two? She seemed friendly enough when she was talking to Scott," Billy pointed out. "And it's not like there's not a precedent for friendly Twos."

"The model?" Sam asked, shaking his head a little bit. "At least she's not from the Academy."

"Yeah, but she's not as friendly as the one that _kissed_ you, huh, Scott?" Kamala asked with a little giggle as she bumped Scott with her hip, and he looked like he would like her to _please stop_.

"The one that what?" Logan asked, with a bit of a look of shock as he spun to face Scott. "When?"

Scott let out a sigh as he glanced Kamala's way with only half a glare. "Yesterday at the knives station."

"And …"

"And she really isn't that bad," Scott muttered, though he wasn't meeting Logan's gaze — or Clara's, for that matter. "She's not from the Academy either."

Logan shook his head and waved him off with one hand. "Don't buy it. If that's the one I think it is, she's trouble walking — and she'll take you down in a heartbeat, given the chance."

"I'd like to think I'm not _that_ easy of a target," Scott grumbled.

"I'd like to think so too," Logan agreed. "And I said given the chance. I didn't say you were just walkin' around with a bullseye on you."

"Nope, just a 'kiss me' sign," Kamala giggled.

"That's just about as bad," Sam pointed out. "It's rare for an actual romance to start in the games and _not_ end with a knife in the back."

"Or other crap," Billy muttered as America just nodded beside him.

"I'm just _teasing_ ," Kamala said, shaking her head as she lightly punched Scott in the arm.

"Yeah, but we're not," Jessica said. "Don't trust pretty girls from Career districts."

"What about pretty girls from outliers?" America called out with a horrible, sloppy grin.

"Then it all depends on who it is," Logan called back.

"Oh, always trust the pretty girls from Six," Kamala said with a smile. "Especially the little ones. We're irresistible, right, Scott?"

"Oh yeah," Scott said, smirking her way as she _beamed_ at him.

"Don't worry," Kamala added Logan's way. "I won't let him get taken in by any pretty girls besides me." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and giggled.

"I'm sure," Logan said with an eyebrow raised Scott's way. "That's probably about enough for tonight anyhow. Your escorts are going to flip out if you go into assessments looking like hell tomorrow." He looked toward Scott and Clara. "Moira will anyhow."

"Not to mention your stylists," America said with a smirk and leaned over to high-five Jubilee.

"No, no," Jubilee said. "I'm fine with battle-ready. Sets an image in the mind."

"Ooh, I like that too," America agreed, redirecting to her own stylist. "Noh, make sure when you're starting a line with her tonight you take notes on battle-ready."

"He's got no paper when they're working on their line," Logan muttered her way. "It's all body paint and glitter."

"Then after," she muttered back with a little twinkle to her gaze.

"You are never going to let that die, are you?" Noh asked with a look of longsuffering painted on his features.

"Nope!" America shook her head.

"It gives her life," Logan told Noh. "That's what she's telling you."

"Yep. You're stuck with it 'til the day I die — and then I expect Logan here to carry on my work for me in my name," America agreed.

"I'll do what I can. My schedule's pretty full with takin' the Mickey outta Quill."

"You'll just have to reschedule once he's married," America said philosophically.

"Oh no. It's just gonna get worse once he's married," Logan promised with a smirk. "Someone's gotta tip off the press to the green bean count down."

"That's never gonna happen," Quill said with a sharp glare Logan's way.

"Like you have a say."

"He'd have your nose," America called out to Quill, who just gave her a 'why' sort of look.

Logan smirked. "And his mother's snarl."

" _Good night_ , Logan. Have fun with your tributes," Quill said pointedly as he spun on his heel and headed for the door.

Logan turned to America with a look of false concern. "Too much?"

"No, no," she assured him, laughing quietly. "Too much would have been twins."

Logan just chuckled at her and tipped his chin toward Scott and Clara. "Come on, we should go be officially where we're supposed to."


	13. Show Me What You Got

**Chapter 13: "Show Me What You Got"**

* * *

 _Early Morning of July 5_

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

After spending the night in the Capitol testing the limits of not only the kids' ability to sneak around unseen but also the Capitol's security setup, Kate was ready to drop into her bed and sleep the morning away before they did the whole thing again later that night.

She was almost there when she noticed that she wasn't the only one who had just returned from her mission. Cassie had the room right next door to hers, but she hadn't gone to bed yet. In fact, she seemed to be waiting up, even if she was dressed in her pajamas.

"What's up?" Kate asked, pausing outside the door to her own room.

Cassie glanced up, clearly distracted, before she broke into a nervous sort of smile. "Oh, nothing. I'm just a little keyed up is all."

Kate leaned against the wall and had to smile at that. "Adrenaline from the mission?"

"That's probably part of it," Cassie admitted before, to Kate's surprise, she took a few running steps to where Kate was and wrapped her arms around the older girl in a hug. "I just — I was just thinking about how the interviews are tomorrow night, and — and there's really not much time at all before Billy and America… before they…."

Kate nodded as the sudden understanding hit her. "Yeah."

Cassie buried her face in Kate's shoulder for a long moment, hugging her that much tighter in silence before, finally, Kate offered, "Do you want to come in?"

Cassie glanced up at her, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You don't mind?"

"Nah, not really," Kate promised, tucking Cassie under her arm as she steered the younger girl into the room. "Probably against the rules too, so that makes it even better."

Cassie let out a little breath of a laugh at that and quickly wiped her cheeks as Kate led her to sit on the corner of the bed. She tucked her knees up underneath her chin and waited for Kate as the older girl changed and took a quick shower before, finally, Kate dropped onto the bed next to Cassie and wrapped an arm around her.

"Sorry," Cassie muttered as she kept wiping at her cheeks. "I was just …"

"Yeah, I know," Kate said, hugging her friend closer.

"I was just hoping they _don't_ win," Cassie blurted out, eyes wide, and Kate glanced down to see that Cassie looked halfway scared of the admission.

She let out all her breath and steadfastly didn't meet Cassie's gaze for a long time. "Yeah, I know," she said at last.

"Does that make me a horrible person? Wanting them to be here?" Cassie asked in a quiet whisper.

Kate shook her head fervently. "No way," she swore. "It's not like you're wishing they were _dead_ — you're wishing they were _here_. There's a difference."

"They've still got to die to get here," Cassie pointed out.

"One of them's going to die anyway. It's okay to look forward to seeing them here when it's all said and done," Kate promised, though she sounded a lot more sure of it than she felt. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't had the same thoughts, but when Cassie was crying in her bedroom, she wanted to sound a lot more sure of her answers.

"Can't we just skip past all the Games stuff and get to the part where they're here with us?" Cassie grumbled, and Kate had to laugh at that.

"Yeah, that would be nice."

Cassie just smiled and leaned her head on Kate's shoulder, seemingly content not to go anywhere at all, and before Kate knew it, she had a very tired fifteen-year-old asleep on her right side, so she simply shifted to let Cassie get comfortable and leaned back herself so she could get some shut-eye too, though it took her a little longer, the same questions Cassie had asked still ringing in her head.

* * *

 _July 5_

 _Assessment Room_

* * *

Skye had never seen the assessment room before, but on this side of it, with all the people who were supposed to decide the scores for the kids, everything was purple and lavish. The chairs were plush, there was plenty of food for them to snack on, and the glass was thick between them and the tributes they were supposed to rate.

Because of all the work she'd done picking out the tributes who were waiting just outside the doors for those oh-so-important scores, Coulson had argued that she should be allowed to be part of this as well. And she wasn't exactly sure that he was doing her a favor.

The director and assistant director were there, and so were the trainers — not to mention some seriously wealthy and powerful Capitolites who were there to judge the tributes' 'looks,' which Skye hadn't even realized was a _consideration_ for the scores until just now.

Coulson introduced her as having done "personality assessment work," which was _so_ underwhelming as to just what it was that she'd poured into all this, but it sounded fluffy and about what they would expect to hear, and she got several polite hellos before they finally settled into their seats and the first tribute — the boy from One — walked in.

The interesting part about his assessment was not the calm and unconcerned way Kilgrave went through the weapons stations, though that in itself was a little unnerving. It was the fact that he talked with the judges the entire time he worked — or talked to them, at any rate. He just kept right on speaking in a low, easy tone that was almost soothing to listen to, and by the time he left the assessment area, Skye felt confident he would get a high score. She didn't exactly know _why_ , just that she felt like he'd earned it, somehow, even if he really hadn't done anything noteworthy.

Each of the judges had a little datapad to enter their score, and it wasn't like anyone was trying to be sneaky about hiding what they were writing down as Skye looked over shoulders to see flurries of tens and elevens, though even if she couldn't see Fury's screen, there was no mistaking the one single line for a one that he'd drawn. Just a one, nothing else.

Skye frowned his way but didn't say anything. Maybe Fury just liked being contrary — he certainly didn't listen to anything she or Coulson had to say.

The girl from One came in next, and she at least had more substance. Jean's first stop was at the survival station, where she simply started to build a fire, which had a few of the people in the booth trading glances. This was the kind of thing they'd expect from the younger kids and the outer districts, not a Career. But once her fire was going, Jean crossed to the other side of the room, dipped an arrow into the fire — and a few moments later, most of the archery targets were doused in flame retardant, as she'd apparently decided to set the whole thing on fire.

She actually wasn't a very good shot, but the results were destructive enough to earn her a good score, and she had a satisfied sort of smirk on her face as Fury dismissed her, though the cleanup crew had to get the archery range reset before they could call in Brian.

It was clear when Brian arrived that, despite not being from the Academy, he had poured his all into trying to learn what he could, and he went through several of the different weapons stations to show his proficiency — or at least, what he'd been able to learn. He wasn't half bad, considering how much time he'd had to prepare, but Skye was pretty sure the thing that would help his score was the low muttering from the Capitolites who weren't SHIELD or trainers about him and his sister being "darlings."

The muttering shifted to open admiration when Betsy was next into the room, and Skye noticed that Duquesne in particular leaned forward in anticipation when she went right for the swords. Coulson noticed too and gave the man a slightly raised eyebrow, which was Coulson-speak for pure shock and surprise.

To start with, the young woman looked a bit unsure until she let out a deep breath, closed her eyes and simply set to destroying her targets in a wickedly fast rush — her katana flashing light off the blade as she spun. She was graceful and quick — though when she was done, she again seemed a bit unsure as to what exactly she was doing until she'd put the sword back very carefully. She then turned back to the panel and almost curtseyed before she simply headed back out.

Most of the Capitolites were still gushing over Betsy and how beautiful and graceful she was when the boy from Three came in, though it was hard not to notice his entrance as he loudly crashed into the room, knocking over several weapons racks as he babbled about sponsors, about how pretty Miss Maria Hill was, and then somehow wound up at the traps station to stumble his way through a few knots before almost drunkenly making his exit.

Skye was sure that he'd gotten the lowest score so far, and the people around her that she could spy on seemed to agree, with twos being the most common theme, though again, Skye saw that Fury had different ideas entirely. And apparently so did Hill, who must not have appreciated his flirty comments. At all.

This time, though, Skye had to agree with Fury and Hill — which she didn't actually do all that often. She'd done the math on this guy, and he was wicked smart. There was no _way_ he was that stupid. Right? She glanced around the room before she wrote a '7' on her pad, and with the last of the scores recorded, the bell rang to admit Giuletta Nefaria.

Nefaria was the first Career to actually act like one, even if she was from Three. She went straight to the knives station and wasted absolutely no time using every single knife, dagger, and blade on the dummies that had been provided, working quickly and savagely until she took a step back to survey her work, and Skye had to wince when she realized what Nefaria had done.

Not a single one of the marks on the dummies was immediately fatal, and it was clear she'd done it on purpose, picking instead points that would be painful, debilitating, paralyzing. That girl was a piece of work, and the light mood from watching Trevor's antics earlier had completely evaporated as most of the room was frowning while they recorded her scores.

Skurge was next, and while Nefaria's performance had been disturbing, his was downright terrifying. He went right for the biggest axe in the room, picked it up like it weighed nothing, and spent the entirety of his time simply chopping through and destroying everything. _Everything_. Dummies, tables, equipment, it was all the same to Skurge, who silently did his work until time was called and he replaced the axe and left without any fanfare whatsoever.

When Amora came in after Skurge, all smiles and teeth, it was honestly less intimidating than it could have been as she went through the sword and dagger skills that she had been trained in since birth in Four — though the Capitolites who weren't with SHIELD seemed to adore her all the same. She was blonde and leggy and eighteen — what wasn't to love?

Finally, with Amora gone, that was the last of the Careers, and Skye sat up a little straighter even as the rest of the people in the booth seemed to start to lose interest. The next eight districts — these were the ones that she'd argued with Coulson, with Fury over. And she couldn't help but feel vested in the outcome of their scores, even if she did know about the Tahiti program, and even if she did know that only one of them was going to walk out. She definitely had a bias, and she knew it, but that didn't mean these other kids weren't weighing heavily on her conscience.

But she realized she didn't really have to worry with Bucky when the kid from Five walked into the assessment area and headed straight for the weights. He worked up a good rhythm pounding on a punching bag, and while a few of the trainers looked bored, some of the others sat up a bit as the bag started to swing until, finally, Bucky punched the whole thing off its hook. He hadn't destroyed it like he'd meant to, like when he'd faced down Brock, but the heavy bag skidding across the floor was certainly enough to make the judges sit up and notice him before he gave them a curt little nod and headed out again.

Then, Jessica Jones' assessment was the shortest the Games had ever seen. It was clear she wasn't planning to give them anything. She walked in with narrowed eyes before she stopped smack in front of the glass, flipped them all off, grinned, and walked out again, leaving most of the judges in shock, though Fury was smirking and Hill had an honest grin on.

The Six boy came in looking a bit surprised at how quickly they'd called him in, though once he got inside, he went straight to work, almost methodically going through each weapons station to do his level best to destroy the dummies and everything else until his time ran out, wearing a deep scowl the whole time that only got deeper when it was clear he wasn't finished with all the destruction he'd wanted to get in when the buzzer went off.

His district partner, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She nervously edged into the room and ran through the plants and survival stations, looking simply terrified every time she glanced up at the glass separating the judges from her, though the real clincher was when the buzzer sounded to end her time and she jumped the slightest bit.

Everyone in the room was shaking their heads rather forlornly, muttering about how it was "always hard" with the youngest kids. But she had done exceedingly well with the plants and water stations — so she wouldn't get a one, at least. Skye peered over Coulson's shoulder to see that he'd given her a higher score, though he just gave her a little smirk when she shot him a questioning look.

The next kid to come in the room, though, was Scott, and Skye already had her score picked out for him, though she knew he would probably hate her for it. She was already planning to score him low, bring down the average, because she didn't want him to draw attention. He already had Logan, and the brother drama, and she really, _really_ didn't want him to paint a target on himself — because she wanted him to win.

She was so biased, and she wasn't sorry about it in the least.

Scott actually made a decent showing for the judges, too, going to the knives station first because that was his strong suit before he went to weights to finish out with the little extra time he had, though after he'd heard the buzzer and he turned to face the judges for the first time, she knew the second he'd noticed her because he paused for several long seconds before he shook his head, set his jaw, and marched out of the room. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Clara came in with her head held high — as always, far more dignified-looking than her brother, though the subtle family resemblance was more obvious up close. She paused to be sure that the judges were watching her before she gingerly picked up a knife, looked at it for a moment, and then tossed it straight up in the air, caught it so the blade was sticking out opposite her thumb and just … destroyed the line of dummies in a twirling, slashing whirlwind that had her braid nearly flying straight out behind her.

When she reached the end of the line, she turned quickly and threw the knife, then smirked as it stuck fast right in the center of a dummy's forehead. She let out a breath, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes that had come loose of her braid, and waited the ten seconds or so for the timer to run out with her arms crossed and her hip cocked as she watched the judges, most of whom seemed to be delighted that she was doing such a good impression of intimidating like they'd come to expect from a Creed.

After that, the boy from Eight came sauntering in like he owned the place and blew a kiss toward the judges' booth that seemed to be directed at all of the ladies at once, somehow. But to their surprise, the young man wasn't just flash and flirtatious looks, as once he got hold of a bo staff, he was surprisingly graceful, spinning and kicking his way through the course until the time had run out, though somehow, he had managed to slip a knife into his pocket in that flurry of motion as he tossed it over his shoulder at a dummy on his way out, still grinning at the judges — though by that point, after Clara Creed, it was clear they were starting to get bored.

When little Gwen came next, she didn't have nearly the same flash that Remy had, but she had been listening to Osborn's advice, going through all the stations he suggested for her, from hand-to-hand to trapping and climbing. But the plan he had stressed most for her was simply to show off her smile, and that was definitely in full display as the Capitolites in the room couldn't get enough of the cute little blonde.

Still, they were losing interest faster as the assessments dragged on. The food and conversation was catching the attention of the group of judges far more than little Alex Summers when he came in and did his very best at the stations Scott had told him to go through, but only Fury, Hill, and Coulson seemed to be paying attention. Well, and Skye, but she was watching everything at once, frowning harder the more she realized nobody seemed to _care_.

Kitty was next, and while she gave a much better showing than Alex had, it was simply true that no one was watching — aside from those that were from SHIELD, really. Skye had no idea how the people around her were even coming up with scores. Were they just making it up? This was _so_ not how this was supposed to work.

When Arkady Gregorovitch, the massive psycho from Ten came in, the gathered group of judges seemed to slow their conversation, but they still didn't seem to really put much focus on him as he went through the stations below — which was more troublesome, since he was frikkin' scary, to be honest. And they barely looked up when his district partner came through with similar results. Had these two been in a Career district, they'd likely have gotten a standing ovation.

So there was really no hope for little Miles Morales, though he did his level best to get the judges attention as he started pretty much narrating what he was doing, setting up traps and showing off hand-to-hand and generally trying to get their attention before he threw up his hands and went " _Gah_!" and left before his time was up.

His district partner, on the other hand, got a little more attention, though that was probably because she was the youngest, and everyone there was calling her a "darling" like they had with the Braddocks. Though Skye was watching Monet go through the stations and had to admit — she was _good_. At _everything_.

The dark-haired boy from Twelve tried to show off his knowledge of pressure points on some of the dummies, but at that point, it was clear no one was going to give these tributes the time of day, and Skye felt her hands balling up in fists. She wanted to hit these people with her data pad. Just to make up for how stupid they were being, she'd been giving all the kids they'd ignored higher scores, and she made sure to do the same for Billy to make up for the judges' indifference — but that didn't make her feel any better. She knew how to hit people now, too, between May and Logan's training, and these people really, really deserved it — and she just _couldn't_ hit them, which was even more frustrating.

Finally, the last of the tributes came in. America Chavez took one look at the state of things and looked just as angry as Skye felt. In a few long strides, she went to the weights station and used one hand to pick up one of the heavier weights — which in itself was impressive enough — before she lobbed it at the glass separating them from the tributes.

The glass vibrated, and the sound definitely got the judges attention as America glared at them all and flipped them off. "If Billy's score is anything less than a six, I'm blaming you," America said, pointing at Fury in particular before she flipped him off again and then took to _demolishing_ the stations, snapping dummies' necks and tossing weights like they were nothing before she finished off with a few choice, vulgar words for the judges and took her leave.

Skye had to grin. She totally appreciated her sentiment.


	14. On the Side

**Chapter 14: "On the Side"**

* * *

 _July 5_

 _District Seven Suite_

* * *

Scott had the score announcements pulled up on the television in his room where it was quieter and he couldn't be bothered by the drama going on outside his door. Creed had wanted to know how Clara had done and what she had done to impress the judges, and that had more or less fallen into an argument — so he'd gone somewhere quieter so he would be sure not to miss anything, not about to let Creed make things any harder than they already were as he prepared to take on the arena.

But he was already sure he knew how this was going to go, all things considered. After all, he had no illusions about what was going on behind the scenes, the more he saw of the Capitol.

He had only missed the beginning fanfare by Tivan and Uatu over the sound of the Creeds arguing, which was a relief, and he'd just really gotten settled with a pencil and notebook when the first of the scores was announced.

The Careers didn't fare nearly as well this year as they had the previous year. Both of One's tributes got eights, and so did the girls from Three and Four, though Two's girl got a nine, and so did the huge guy from Four. Two's brother got a seven, which was respectable, since Scott knew they weren't trained — and the half-drunk kid from Three somehow managed a four, though Scott had no idea what he would have even done to get _that._ It was all higher than average, but it was, as Tivan noted, one of the lower-scoring Career groups in recent history. Not a one of them broke double digits.

Still, Scott had to frown down at the notebook where he had scratched the numbers beside the list of names. The redhead from One _had_ to have done something impressive to get the same score as the other girls, who were actually terrifying — and that didn't quite line up with the Jean he knew. He just… couldn't think what she would have done.

The guy from Five, the one who was best friends with last year's tribute, had gotten an 8 as well, but that wasn't surprising. His district partner only had a four, and that _was_ surprising, because Scott had seen her at the weights and knew she was stronger and faster than she let on. And Six's boy had a seven, which was high for an outlier district — though Scott had to frown at Kamala's three. She'd been putting so much work into training, and she really was getting good. She should have had a higher score if she'd shown the judges _anything_ like what she'd been doing with Logan.

Or maybe they knew about what she'd been doing with Logan and gave her that score _because of it_.

The more Scott thought about it, the more he was sure that was it — that the Capitol knew about the training they weren't supposed to be getting from Logan and was making sure it came back to hurt them for breaking their precious rules.

Scott was really settling into a glare by the time the scores for Seven came in, and when they gave him a five, he almost wasn't even surprised. Of course he had a five; what did he expect — that they were going to let him get away with being part of the group breaking the rules with Logan _and_ be in Logan's district when his ex was one of the judges…? He was screwed from the start. It probably hadn't even mattered what he did in his assessments; they weren't going to let him win.

Clara fared a little better. She'd gotten a seven, which had been Logan's score last year, though honestly, Scott had expected her to get much higher. She could be dangerous if she wanted to be, and he knew she'd been holding back when she sparred with him in the rooftop training… Scott shook his head and chalked it up to the same problems. They were getting punished for being part of Logan's team.

Eight's boy got a six, which surprised Scott, because he hadn't seen the guy do much of anything besides flirt and try to steal everything he could, though the spider-girl had a respectable five too. She had been working hard at the hand to hand station, and it must have paid off.

Kitty also got a five, but Alex — Alex came in at just a four, and Scott just leaned back for a moment to stare at the ceiling. This was what happened when his brother didn't _listen_ to him. Though considering the low-scoring trend of everyone who was part of Logan's class ... he just wasn't even surprised anymore.

The first tribute to break into double digits was the boy from Ten, though Tivan and Uatu were positively cackling over the girl's score of eleven, the highest out of anyone so far — and likely the highest in the Games, since there were only two districts left. Tivan seemed delighted that Ten was continuing the trend of putting up a real challenge.

Miles matched Kamala's score of three, and Scott was surprised to see that, since the kid was actually pretty good at the showcasing part — he wasn't shy like Kamala was, so he should have been able to show off _something_. But again, there was the fact that he was in Logan's group… His district partner, on the other hand, got a seven, of all things.

Billy also scored low, at a four, but Scott was just as shocked as Tivan and Uatu at America's ten. He had expected her to score high, but not that high, not when she was in on Logan's group _and_ had been trying to fly under the radar and not overshadow her partner. Still, she definitely deserved it. He was just surprised it wasn't Clara's score too. She was just as dangerous, if not moreso, and the more Scott thought about it, the more he was sure that she should have scored in the double digits if she had been anywhere but Seven — or if she had stayed away from Logan.

Scott sighed and set aside the notebook. The scores didn't tell him much except that there were a few surprises in Eight and Eleven. Besides that, the Careers and the Tens were the real threats to watch out for, but he already knew that…

He shook his head. That was a lie. The scores told him plenty. The problem was that they were also a nail in his coffin, and he knew it.

* * *

Logan was getting ready to leave. He'd just changed and was watching Clara handle her brother like a damn pro as he shrugged his flannel shirt on to head out when Scott stepped out looking more serious than should be allowed for someone his age — even considering his station in life at that moment.

"So. Interviews tomorrow. Don't let him get under your skin and you'll do fine," Logan said over his shoulder. It was plain to see that Moira was the real coach for interviews anyhow, and anyone that had _seen_ Logan's interviews would know better than to ask him for tips.

"Like it's going to help anything," Scott bit out his way.

Logan glanced up at him from where he'd paused at the door. "You wanna let him run the narrative, go for it. Probably will anyhow. Just don't get mad when it's all about your brother."

"That would be a nice change of pace," Scott said. "Instead of all about _you_."

"Nobody cares about me," Logan promised.

Scott didn't look like he believed that in the least. "Oh yeah, that's why everyone you've been coaching scored less than a six — well, Clara's got her brother's … whatever to help."

"The scores don't mean a damn thing. No one pays attention to them anyhow." Logan shook his head and just let out his breath. Scott was clearly too keyed up to listen to reason.

"Easy for you to say from this side of the Games. The rest of the kids getting punished for you breaking the rules might see things a little differently," Scott said, his arms crossed as he fell into more of a glare than before.

"Slim, I don't know what's got you all knotted up, but I'm telling you: They don't mean a thing. They're made up. I don't even remember what the hell they gave me."

"It was a seven," Scott said.

"That's rich. I didn't do anything for it but stand there and glare."

"Probably got the score from the girl, then," Scott said. "Thanks for that, by the way, great help having _her_ in a judge's seat."

"What girl?" he asked with a frown, though his interest was certainly piqued.

"The one from the Capitol that used to live with you," Scott said. "I'm sure she had _nothing_ to do with the scores last year or this year, though."

Logan looked openly surprised at that. "She wasn't there last year. And she … wasn't _living_ with me. She was _working_ with me for a couple weeks." He looked a little irritated as he continued much lower, "She told me she had nothing to do with the Games."

"Well now your ex is giving out scores," Scott shot back, the irritation clear in his tone as he tipped his chin up at Logan.

"Which ex?" Creed called out with a smile from the far side of the room, and Logan gave him a flat look as Scott got more riled. "I thought I saw more than one walk out."

Scott looked livid. "Do you even _consider_ how your actions affect people?"

"Have you _considered the source?_ " Logan shot back. "All he does is stir up trouble. And I'll find out why the hell that girl was there. She _shouldn't_ have been."

"And everyone around you has such a reputation of being _where they should be_ ," Scott said.

"I don't have time for your little tantrum right now," Logan muttered.

"Yeah, I'm sure dealing with your tribute is really cutting into whatever the hell you get up to instead of doing your job," Scott shot back.

"I'd consider that a shot if you listened to one thing I've ever told you," Logan replied.

"Say something worth listening to then. All I'm getting is excuses."

"Rest up. Or don't. I'm going to find out what the hell is going on. Maybe you can try on Vic for a while." Logan glanced over toward the two of them. "Seems like the two of you could have a lot to bond over."

"That's your advice? A handoff before you leave? Typical."

"It doesn't matter what I tell you to do — you'll do the opposite. Unless, of course, I advise you to do something monumentally dumbass — then you'll latch on to that one with both hands."

Scott glared at him openly before he spun on his heel. "Go screw a Capitolite or whatever it is you're going to do," he called over his shoulder before he slammed the door to his room shut.

Logan scrubbed a hand over his face. "Vic …"

"Hey. I couldn't let that one slide," Victor called back. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Logan shot him a look that bordered on murderous before he shook his head and headed out.

It took him a lot more time than it would take Victor to get to the Triskellion. At least at this time of year, it was expected for the victors to be moving about from one building to the next, but by the time he'd been stopped for the fifth or sixth time, he was in no mood to even look at anyone, let alone try to be approachable. When he did get to the Triskellion, he socked the security guard in the face when he asked for an ID badge and just kept going — though the second guard had seen the display and gave him a little wave as he passed.

He went through the paces as it was expected of Fury's secret team to do, and when he got to the 'office' they met up in, he slipped through the hidden door in the back of the room to come out in the secret passageway into Fury's labyrinth of hidden rooms. By the time he got to Fury's briefing room — geared up and set to go — he was ready to kill someone. As a means of relaxation.

To add insult to injury, Creed had still managed to get there first. Logan scowled and dropped into a seat far-removed from the bulky blonde, grabbing the file in front of him. Tonight was a simple assassination. The back-up team was from a group he hadn't worked with, and the orders were pretty strict to keep the lines of communication closed unless totally necessary.

Team X was to go in well ahead of the hit and set it up to look like an accident — or a suicide, whichever seemed more believable once they got there. The back-up wouldn't engage unless the exits were blocked or their transport was waylaid. Oh. And fun on top of the joyful festivities of the day? Skye was the one running communication between the two teams. Perfect.

"Full masks. Nothing should be visible at all on anyone. Not hair color — Victor. Tuck that damn ponytail before I cut it off," Fury said with a glare, and to even Fury's surprise, Vic grumbled, but did exactly that. "The mark is one of Tivan's closest competitors. Normally, I'd sit back and enjoy that little hissy fit, but the man has a solid suspicion on one of our top secret programs, and he needs to go." He turned to Logan with a little smirk. "All yours."

Logan glared harder at him for a moment and flipped open the file again, a bit more aggressively than what was strictly necessary.

"You'll be showing one of my other teams how this is supposed to look, so do both of us a favor and stay on your game," Fury said. At that, Fury looked between his team members and let out a sigh. "You have ten minutes until we load up." He waited for Logan to look his way for acknowledgement before he turned and left — with Victor on his heels already pestering to be the trigger man in spite of the fact that Fury had told him perimeter was his focus.

Skye waited until the room was cleared before she leaned over with a smile. "Don't worry — I'll run the tech this time, so you don't have to worry about that."

Logan glanced up at her, still far too irritated to even consider a decent conversation, and instead of just trying to ignore it … "What _the hell_ were you doing giving scores on those kids?"

Skye's entire expression fell, and she let out all her breath. "It… was a promotion. Sort of. I didn't ask for it."

"Yeah? Holding out for assistant Gamemaker?"

She shook her head hard. "No. No way. The sooner I can get away from _anything_ to do with the Games…" She paused and glanced at him. "Not _you_ , I mean. That's not what I — I just mean the _Games,_ not—" She seemed to just give up entirely and put her head in her hands. "I actually really hate this job."

"Yeah. I'm sure it's gotta suck when the kids actually pop up in front of you that you picked out." He stood up and closed the folder before he simply headed toward the exit, fuming.

Skye picked her head up and looked openly hurt. "I swear, Logan — _I swear_ — I begged and I pleaded, and they _still_ put Scott on the list."

He stopped and straightened up to turn slowly to face her again. "I thought you didn't have anything to do with it but some _algorithms_."

She looked even more miserable as she nodded. "That… I swear, I didn't know it was being used to pick out kids. I _swear_. I never would have… I _swear_ , Logan, I had no idea until after your Reapings were already over."

"I have to get to work," he said with his jaw locked. "More people to kill, you know."

"God — I'm sorry, Logan," she mumbled miserably.

"Get it together," he said through his teeth. "Unless the goal is to get me caught tonight too. Maybe we'll talk later. _After_ the Games when you've had time to get your story straight."

She looked up to see the way he was holding himself, all tense and looking ready to hit something, before she nodded. "After the Games," she repeated. "I'll tell you the whole story." She paused and took in a deep breath before she added, "And I won't get you caught."

He looked her way for a moment. "You'd have to go out of your way. No one breaks my sneak."

She almost smiled at that. "Yeah. I know."

"If I were you, I'd worry more about the other team. Victor is too entertained to let me die tonight." Logan turned back to the exit. "So you know."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, considering who we're talking about," she said, this time with an actual, albeit small, smirk.

He shook his head and headed out at a jog. The clock was already running, and Fury made to wait was no fun at all.

* * *

"Relax," Natasha said to Peter as he simply couldn't seem to calm down. The two of them were set to provide backup to Fury's hand-picked team, and while Natasha had done that very thing since she got out from under the Red Room, it was clear Peter wasn't in the least bit prepared for this step. "This is good. It's like a promotion. And it's easy enough work. Just … do as you're told and be _quiet._ "

"See … you're _new_. And you might not have heard. But I don't do really well at… either of those things," Peter said as he rubbed the back of his head.

"I've read your file, including your psychological profile," she said easily. "I know. But your job is easy tonight. We're just support — and with this team, they probably won't need us at all."

"Wait, wait, back up — you've read my _what now_?" Peter goggled at her for a moment, holding his hands in the T for time out.

"Open intel for anyone in the program," she defended with an easy shrug and wide eyes. "You can read everyone's. You just have to ask."

"Why would you _ask_?" Peter gaped at her. "That's so personal!"

"To learn more about my teammates," she said, as if it was the most easily understood concept in the world. "And I'm not sure how personally you can take it. It's a shortcut to qualify to work with everyone faster."

"Okay, okay, listen. You are going to have to work on your people skills, because — that is just… don't do that."

"It's in my file. You should _read_ it," she said, shaking her head with a smirk.

"Files are not nearly as good as the actual person," Peter said, waving his hand at her. "They don't have the important things. Like sense of humor."

"No? The team we're watching doesn't have any files to read. What does that mean?"

Peter looked honestly surprised her way for a moment before he nodded to himself. "It means _you_ have to actually _talk_ to them. I know it's hard, but we'll break you of your wallflower ways."

"It means they don't 'exist'," Natasha said with a little laugh. "And I _have_ talked to them. All of them."

"Yeah?" Peter tipped his head to the side for a second before he had to ask. "Was this when you were murder Natasha or good Natasha?"

"Good murderer Natasha," she said with a broad smirk and a raised eyebrow. "For Fury." She shook her head. "I can't believe you haven't read up on anyone. Basic spywork, Spidey."

He grinned at her use of his codename before he shrugged openly. "I am not a spy. I would be the worst spy ever. Have you met me?"

She nodded. "Yes, yes you would be the worst spy ever," she agreed. "For instance: right now? You should be telling me how their point man is doing."

Peter let out a little 'oops' before he rushed to go do just that, though it only took him a few moments before he was just shaking his head to himself. "He's doing _fine_. I, um, I keep losing track of him, actually."

"You haven't spotted him, have you," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Noooo," Peter admitted in a rush of breath. "But that means he's doing great work. A+. Right?"

"Yeah, he's … the sneakiest," Natasha said with a smile before she flipped off her mic for a moment and simply laughed to herself a bit at the situation while she checked in on the other team, really only listening for the checkpoints … though her timing was exquisite as always as infiltration was in the middle of choking out the mark, so the relay was a bit … muddied. She flipped the mic on for Peter while making sure the one for the X guys was off.

"Okay. Keep an eye on the exit point if you want to try to track him. It's over."

Peter straightened up. "Really?"

"Really."

"That was fast," Peter said as he leaned over to try and spot the black-clad soldier, though it wasn't until Natasha pointed him out that Peter spotted him.

"This team is quick," Natasha told him. "Don't blink."

"That's going to be a problem for my corneas," Peter laughed.

"We need to move," she said, packing up already. "Meet me at the checkpoint. I'm getting static from their original ride."

"Oh. Okay." Peter quickly moved to get up and go —this part he could do, the jumping from place to place and being the awesome rescue if need be.

When he got to the checkpoint, Natasha was waiting, still fully cloaked and covered from head to toe. "No talking," she reminded him as they lifted off to head to the X team's checkpoint, and he mimed a zipper over his mouth. "If you can't handle it, say so now, and I'll tape your mouth shut."

He mimed throwing away the key to his zipper-mouth and then gestured for her to show him the way, though he was grinning under the mask as they met up with Cassie, their pilot, who was also decked out in all black.

The flight was a short one, and when they got to the spot to pick the guys up, they were only on the ground long enough to level out before the two men boarded and dropped into their seats, both of them partly out of breath. They were barely in the plane before the taller one handed a tablet to the shorter one, and there was some serious … something going on.

It was really, _really_ hard for Peter not to say anything when he saw the team, too, because he had never seen a pair _so_ incredibly mismatched in the height department, even if they were both broad and looked like they could probably kill Peter with one hand. Just the one hand, nothing else.

He really, really wanted to ask the giant guy if he kept the short one around to make himself look even taller, and he was sitting on his hands and biting his lip to keep it to himself.

But about the time he was really considering throwing out the radio silence rule and just running with the joke that _had_ to be made with both hands... the tablet was passed back, and the two of them looked far too serious to interrupt as they 'chatted' with hand signals at a rapid pace. When they looked done … 'talking', the shorter one leaned his head back against the wall of the plane, and all seemed to fall into total stillness. It was almost distracting after watching what _had_ to be a wicked conversation with all the signals being tossed back and forth.

And shortly after the big guy did the same, Fury's voice rang out through all their comms, commending them on a clean mission. All the operatives on the plane seemed to relax a bit, and the big guy, in addition to relaxing his shoulders, moved to fiddle with his collar. The shorter guy looked up at him for a moment in what could only be interpreted as disbelief before he smacked the big guy and tipped his head, though the big guy had already let the long blonde ponytail out of the back of his collar.

The pieces started to click into place for Peter — because there was only one guy in all of Marvel that he could think of that was that stupidly big and had a ridiculous blonde ponytail like that. The part that Peter couldn't figure out was who on _Earth_ could be on a _team_ with Victor Creed. Like ... was that even _possible_? It shouldn't be possible. Especially since they seemed to actually be… working… together?

It was taking every single bit of self-restraint Peter had not to burst out with something along the lines of, "This is hurting my brain."

The transport made its way to the checkpoint for the X guys to unload, and for a moment, Peter found he was scrunching up his nose as the smaller guy cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders in a little bit of a familiar way he couldn't quite place. The two of them turned toward the Tahiti operatives for a second and gave them a little nod before they jumped out — still a solid ten feet from the ground. Both of them hit the ground at a run, too, disappearing into the darkness.

"You can talk now," Natasha said as the hatch closed.

"Oh good!" Peter let out all his breath in a rush, as he had been holding it in to keep from imploding with everything that needed to be said. He shook his head hard and turned to Natasha. " _Do you know who that guy is_?" he asked her urgently.

She reached up and flipped off his mic, then nodded. "Yes. Which one?"

"The Victor Creed one!" Peter threw his hands in the air to illustrate his surprise. "You know the other one too? Because… because _who the heck_ can work with _Victor Creed_? It's hurting my _whole head_."

"Several people actually," Natasha said, trying to sidestep the question. "There are four people on that team, and three of them are professionals."

"HOW?" Peter looked like you could blow him over with a feather.

"As I have been told, there are a few understandings in place, and he doesn't like the current system any more than we do."

"That — Natasha. _Natasha._ We were in the same plane as a _psychopath_. Nobody _told me_!"

"At least one," she teased.

"You don't count — Clint already okay'd you," he teased right back.

She gave him a dry look and brushed off his shoulders. "I wasn't talking about _me_ , Spidey."

"Well, you weren't being specific, were you?" he pointed out. "That's your own fault."

"I'd be more specific if I could read his file. Unfortunately, it's sealed."

"Well, when you find a way inside, would you share please with your fellow spider? For reasons?"

"Unless you figure out how to get in first," she countered.

"That," he said, pointing a finger her way, "is a challenge. Which you will totally win."

"It is," she agreed. "Unless you get your computer teacher friend to help you."

Peter drew himself up a bit. "I can do it on my _own_ , thanks. But…" He paused. "Maybe that would be a good class project," he mused half to himself.

"It really would," Natasha said, nodding. "I'm sure she wouldn't even argue with you about it if you asked nicely."

"Especially not if me and Tony promise to help _her_ cheat the next time we have a face-off," Peter grinned widely.

"If she's coaching who I think she's coaching?" Natasha said. "She'll help."

* * *

When the two Seven victors got back to Fury's office — cleaned up, changed, and looking fairly fresh — both Skye and Fury were waiting for them for the quick debrief.

Logan looked exhausted and ready to drop, worn out from the job he'd pulled off and the building stress. He fully handed most of the debrief to Creed to cover, though when it got down to the nitty gritty of exactly how the target had been killed, Logan had to do that part himself. He frowned all the way through the retelling of what had happened, and it was clear to not only Skye but to Fury and Creed too, that Logan wasn't exactly thrilled with playing hitman on someone like _that_ — a Capitolite who, despite being underhanded and too smart for his own good, didn't know how to fight in the least. It was too bad that Creed wasn't anywhere near as sneaky as Logan was, and that Fury clearly preferred Logan's methods to Victor's.

But even with prompting, Logan's description of events was spartan at best, and Fury looked almost irritated with the lack of fine detail that Logan offered without extensive prompting. When they were all done, the four of them shared a few looks, then simply parted company

Skye didn't even look at the director before she took off back for the area of the Triskellion that was reserved for Coulson's team. She knew her mouth could get her in trouble, and if she looked Fury's way, _or Logan's_ , she was sure she wouldn't be able to stop giving Fury a piece of her mind. Which he totally deserved anyway.

Still, she somehow managed to keep her mouth shut all the way back to her room, where she pulled up her laptop and immediately started to go through all the files she'd kept from all the projects she had been asked to work on. If Logan knew the kids were being picked for the Games, then there was no reason he shouldn't know _everything_ , right?

She was all about full disclosure, after all.


	15. All Flash, No Substance

**Chapter 15: "All Flash, No Substance"**

…

 _July 6: Interview Day_

 _Capitol Arena, Backstage_

…...

As always, the group of tributes was lined up in order of appearance for their interviews that day, and everyone was dressed to the nines. Betsy still couldn't figure out why One's boy insisted on wearing so much purple. He didn't look good in it, and it clashed terribly with his district partner. Not to mention he'd only quit flirting with her when Brian made a habit of glaring at him over her shoulder.

But she didn't have to tolerate him for long, because when the roar of the crowd fell for Tivan's rambling, ridiculous introduction, Kilgrave turned his attention to his incendiary district partner — who once again looked as though she could burst into flames at any moment.

Jean strutted out as best she was able for such a skinny, lanky girl — but she knew how to hold herself, and she knew how to engage Tivan, which was kind of impressive in and of itself.

"Miss Grey!" Tivan exclaimed as he took her hand and led her to her mark for the interview. "You certainly know how to make an entrance. Tell me, what was the inspiration for your parade outfit — which, clearly is being echoed today? Such a bold color choice for a natural redhead."

Jean smirked at him with a look that seemed to burn as bright as the ember-like dress. "Well, when I talked with my stylist, we discussed the precious stones in One and the beauty there, but we wanted something a little more … dangerous." Her eyes glinted. "Dangerous and beautiful — doesn't that sum up a good fire?"

"It does indeed, and your score showed that you are dangerous indeed — but the bird … the beautiful fiery wings … it's reminiscent of something ancient and wondrous," he said as he leaned forward before turning to the crowd. "A mythical creature that would rise up from the ashes." He grinned wider. "And I hope you find it as fitting as I do — if One can indeed rise up from the ashes to claim a win ... like a Phoenix from the ash."

The crowd roared its approval, and Jean seemed to soak in the attention, clearly pleased with the name. "Well, I'm certainly hoping to do better than my predecessor," she allowed, still smiling to herself. "Ashes and dust would be an apt description there."

"Then Miss Grey, please — give us a twirl and a look at one of the most dangerous-looking young ladies to come out of One in recent memory."

Jean was only too happy to show off, raising her arms as she twirled, slowly, the dress seeming to turn an even brighter red under the lights, before she sat back in her seat, smiling sweetly at Tivan.

"The speculation is that the Careers are a bit weaker this year than in years past," Tivan said as he leaned toward her. "What would you like to say to those that doubt your alliance?"

Jean laughed. "You're putting too much faith in the scores. Those scores really don't take into account your _mind_ , and that, Mr. Tivan, is the most powerful weapon anyone has, don't you agree?"

"Oh, that does seem to be true," he said, smiling widely.

"I'm sure you've found that's true in your work. After all, it's _your_ mind behind half the Games that we see. You can't put that much faith in _only_ brawn. Even last year's victor had the smarts to make his own weapon." She folded her hands in front of her neatly. "But I guess if you just go by the scores, yes, it's lower than usual. I can't exactly say what the others did, though. I wasn't there for their assessments, and I'm not a mind-reader, sad to say."

"I'm sure if you were, the field would be cleared in a matter of hours," Tivan said. "But I am curious. What was it you did in your assessments? It had to be impressive to set the bar so high for those that were meant to follow you."

But Jean just laughed and shook her head. "That would be telling, wouldn't it? And we have to save some surprises for the Games, or you'll get bored of me!"

"And you are full of surprises, aren't you, my dear girl?" He got to his feet and pulled her with him to present her to the crowd one final time. She sashayed off the stage and all but swept into her seat backstage, sitting prim and proper and looking pleased with herself as her district partner went out after her.

Kilgrave would have a hard time following a performance like that, and it was clear he knew it, though that didn't do anything to sway the self-satisfied look on his face as he strolled out onto the stage to the cheers of the crowd.

But this time, it wasn't Tivan who would be interviewing him. This year, there was a tandem interview effort, a clear changing of the guard that Tivan wasn't happy about in the least. Patricia Walker, who had done the interviews for the families of the final eight, would be interviewing all the boys, and unlike her counterpart in heavy makeup and false smiles, she was all warm pinks and laughter — which probably wasn't a good type to send after Kilgrave if they wanted to force him into answering any _hard_ questions.

And it seemed that Kilgrave, too, thought he was going to get an easy, softball-style time with the young woman.

He approached her with a broad grin and immediately took control of the interview — or tried to — by greeting her with an exaggerated "It's Patsy!" with both hands open to her and a broad smile — but all that really seemed to do was put Miss Walker on edge and put him right in the center of her crosshairs, especially considering she preferred "Trish."

She gave him a tight smile before he took her hand in greeting, quickly moving from entertained 'fan' to warm tribute hoping to make a friend.

"Zebediah Kilgrave," she said with a cold glint in her eyes. "The Capitol welcomes you to this year's Avenger Games. As I understand it, you had a good showing for your assessments, which I find incredibly hard to believe. Would you care to tell the crowd how you managed that — a skinny, obviously less-endowed tribute from One?"

Kilgrave looked shocked at the tone of the question for just a moment before he settled into a wide smile and shook his head at her in pretended disbelief. "Please, Patsy — looks aren't everything. I know I'm not as big and strong and handsome as some other tributes, but shouldn't I get a fair shake anyway? I mean, I'm a fair step above last year's masked menace — at least give me that!"

"I'm just saying, it's hard to understand such a high score when you don't _look_ like you could hurt anyone. I mean, compared to Four…!" She let the statement hang in the air as Kilgrave looked almost annoyed by the comparison.

"Not everyone can throw a freight train over their shoulder, Patsy."

"No, they can't," she agreed. "But if and when it comes down to the final two ... and one of you is an actual fighter ... and the other just talks … I think we know which way it'll go." She gave him a sympathetic look as she waited for his response.

"Patsy…" He shook his head at her. "My dear Patsy, you of all people know the power of words."

"Well, I hope that whoever you end up meeting out there is someone you can apply those words to. As I understand it, the word behind the scenes is that you can't talk everyone into playing nice. Your very own district partner is a tough sell … how do you expect to handle that?"

"How do I expect to handle the little ball of flames, you mean? Let her burn herself out - that's what you do with fire."

"Strong words. Good luck, Mr. Kilgrave."

Kilgrave stood to leave, looking thunderous, though when he hit the backstage area, there was no mistaking the fact that most of the girls were smirking to themselves at Patricia's takedown. It was nice to see someone wasn't playing Kilgrave's game the way he seemed to think it should go.

Betsy was still smirking, in fact, when she was ushered forward to do her interview, her long, black cocktail dress flowing behind her as she made her way across the stage to where, unfortunately, Tivan was waiting with a greasy smile.

"Ah, Miss Braddock!" Tivan's smile widened as he gestured for her to sit down. "It's lovely to meet you in person. I hope you'll forgive the indulgence, but we here in the Capitol have seen your face often enough, we almost feel we know you. But here you are — and we have the chance to know the _real_ Elizabeth Braddock!" He seemed totally thrilled with the idea.

"And I hope you'll forgive me, but the circumstances are certainly less than ideal," she replied with a light Capitolite accent. "Please, call me Betsy. All my friends do."

"Betsy, then," Tivan agreed, his smile somehow widening as he nodded. "Well, then, Betsy, I have to agree that the circumstances could be better, but you must know you're already a favorite, not only because we all _know_ you but… well! Your _score_ , Miss Braddock. I know I'm speaking for everyone when I say you surprised us all!"

"I surprised myself, truth be told," she replied with a little smirk as she leaned toward him a bit, then tossed her head so the little tendril of hair near her eyes would momentarily go elsewhere. "I hope I can keep surprising everyone."

"I'm sure you will," Tivan said with a friendly little smile before he leaned forward, his hands in front of him. "And perhaps both Braddocks will be a surprise this year. I take it you weren't expecting your brother to volunteer? The surprise was plain to see on Reaping Day."

"Oh, of course I wasn't," she said honestly. "I wasn't even expecting to have made the list. So how could I have known he'd do what he did? He's incredibly brave and selfless."

"That he is," Tivan agreed, though there was a different kind of glint to his eyes as he watched her carefully. "And do you expect that trend to continue? That is — only one of you can survive, Betsy."

"It's a family trait," Betsy replied, her trademarked smile firmly in place. "We'll both do whatever we can to help each other — and let the cards fall where they may."

"Well, we here in the Capitol are certainly pulling for you, Betsy," he said before he straightened up a bit and smiled as he presented her to the crowd once more. The deafening roar was certainly more energetic for her than it had been for the tributes before her. The Capitol definitely had a favorite in the Careers.

Betsy took a couple steps forward, toward the crowd and away from Tivan — strictly out of habit — before she stopped and even struck a pose, spinning neatly, with the dress following her lead rather than fighting her as the outfits were doing for many of the other girls backstage. It was clear that she knew exactly how to handle herself — and her clothes — which really just played better for the Capitolites. After all, a model was as close to one of them as they could hope for.

When she got backstage, she shot Brian a nervous but encouraging look moments before it was his turn to leave, though the two Ones waiting for her didn't look particularly thrilled with her showing. "Oh, please," Betsy said as she carefully sat down. "You could have done better. I've just interviewed before."

"It certainly helps when the interviewer is playing soft ball — and favorites," Kilgrave sniffed.

"You _have_ watched these Games before, haven't you?" Betsy shot back. "There are always favorites. And rarely does it mean anything at all."

"True. The favorite of the Capitol has never once won the Games — outside the so-called Fantastic Four, of course. What does that say for their tastes?" Amora asked with one eyebrow raised, though she didn't seem to expect an answer to her question.

"That they clearly value beauty. Good luck with your turn," Betsy replied dryly.

Amora gave her a withering look for that one as the cheering out in the audience came to an end and Patricia and Brian began their back-and-forth.

"I really have to ask, maybe because I'm new, but really... Brian. What were you _thinking?_ " Patricia asked, her eyes dramatically wide and yet still somehow completely sincere in her curiosity.

Brian gave Patricia the slightest of shrugs and an almost self-deprecating grin. "I wasn't actually thinking, to be honest," he told her, the sheepish grin just accentuating the fact that he was telling the truth. "It's just ... that's my sister."

"Well, I don't know how you'll fare in the Games, but you've got to be one of the best brothers in the country, pulling a stunt like that," she said, with genuine warmth in her tone. "Were there any surprises that you'd like to share … perhaps you picked up a talent over the past few days that we might like to hear about? Something that doesn't involve acting like a human shield?"

Brian nodded at that. "Well, I don't want to give anything away, but I _did_ pay attention to all that training you guys gave us in the past three days. At least enough to get a pretty good score, right?" He shrugged up one shoulder. "Plus, you know, I don't think anyone will get close to Betsy without finding out, so I don't think you'll have to wait long."

She gave him a little smile and nodded her head. "And that was the whole point, wasn't it?" She didn't wait for his answer before moving into her wrap up. "Good luck, Mr. Braddock. Even playing bodyguard got you the same score as our last victor, and that has to count for something."

She presented him in a much more understated way than Tivan was using — obviously keeping the focus on the tributes and not trying to pull anything in to herself as Brian made his way to sit down next to Betsy.

"You did well," Betsy told him as he pulled his tie out of the way and rearranged his jacket. "Better than most first time around."

"Just leaned on you," he told her honestly, letting out a little breath of relief now that it was over. "How do you do it all the time?"

"You get used to it," Betsy replied with a little shrug.

"You're gonna be one heckuva victor, then," he told her.

" _If_ I am, then I hope Trish is my interviewer," she said softly. "Tivan lives up to his reputation."

Brian frowned at that and then shook his head. "Too bad we can't both win so I can sock him for you for all your future interviews."

"I'm sure I can sock him myself," Betsy said. "If you'd let me."

"What, and mess up your manicure?" he had to tease.

"Totally worth it. And they're fake. They might just hold up."

He snorted at that, though the production assistants in the wings waved frantically at the two of them for silence as Tivan was introducing Nefaria to the crowd as another "golden child" of Three from the tech empires — and the crowd had quieted enough that they were worried about the backstage conversations being heard again.

"How did such a young woman as yourself find yourself in this place," Tivan asked almost breathlessly. "Two heirs to technical kingdoms in two years' time." He tutted and shook his head slowly. "Things must be doing well in Three for so few workers' families to be on the line."

"I really wouldn't know," Giuletta replied, waving her hand.

"Or perhaps it's that the tech magnates aren't doing so well. First Stark, and then the unfortunate disappearance of Hammer ... it seems there is a bit of a shift in Three."

"Oh please." Nefaria shook her head and wrinkled her nose. "Stark brought last year upon himself — didn't you pay any attention during the Games? And Hammer has _never_ been a big player; he just thought he was."

For a moment, Tivan looked tickled at her commentary. "I'm sure that's just brand loyalty talking. I hope there isn't any real bad blood between the big family names in Three. Stark seems to be bouncing back anyhow. New contracts ... all of them on time..."

"Well, yes," Nefaria admitted. "It had to have been a hard year for Howard Stark, but he does seem to have rallied. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if there will be more collaboration this year — though I suppose things will be different when I return a victor. I'm not sure how that will affect business in Three."

"We'll just have to wait and see then, won't we?" Tivan said with a broad grin.

"Hopefully, it won't take me too long, and then I'll be right back here, and we can discuss it more in detail," Nefaria said, matching his smile.

"I'm sure you won't be in the arena long," Tivan said with a consoling tone. "And we'll all be watching carefully for our next victor, won't we?" he said, this time directed to the crowd before he moved to present her to them … and to a far less enthusiastic applause than what Betsy had garnered.

Next up, of course, was Trevor, who the Braddocks both watched a bit warily, since they knew better than to believe his act now. He made his way onto the stage with a confident, cheerful swagger, and when he got up to Patricia, he was quick to snatch up her hand and lay a solid kiss on the back of it.

She looked a bit surprised by his antics — especially when he didn't let _go_ of her hand right off, though what he said to her was lost over the crowd's response. She finally managed to get her hand back, though her expression was trapped somewhere between amused and confused.

"How are you enjoying your time here in the Capitol?" Patricia asked when she finally got the crowd back in hand and Trevor had drawn out all the applause he could manage.

"It's just one big party, innit?" he asked in a delighted drawl. "You folks really know how to throw a fiesta!"

She smiled his way and had to nod. "This time of year, yes, it really is," she agreed. "But I hope that you're getting some good information before you head out into the arena. Something that will help you survive. I'm reasonably sure there won't be any parties out there this year."

"And ain't that just a shame, love?" he asked, shaking his head with his hand over his heart like he just couldn't believe it. "Shoulda been in last year's group, if you ask me. _Much_ more agreeable group of kids. Parties and campfires and all that. You see last year's Three even found him some liquor? What a year!"

"They did seem to make the best of it," Patricia agreed, totally amused with the young man. "Do you think you'll find any liquid courage out there, Trevor?"

"Ooh, I hope so," Trevor said with wide eyes. "Gotta be easier to deal with all… that… when you're not thirsty, eh?"

She shook her head, the smile impossible to stow while he was being so genuinely entertaining. "Then I hope you find a way to keep your positive attitude while you're out there. Good luck."

"Don'tcha worry, love," he said earnestly. "But thanks for the luck - I'll take all I can get!" With that, Trevor turned back to the crowd for some _enthusiastic_ waving that had more than a few people chuckling over the entertaining tribute from Three.

There was little wait before Amora found herself strutting out to talk to Tivan, though the crowd's cheers were less than even Trevor had gotten, and it had her a bit surly to start. She simply wasn't used to people not tripping over themselves on her behalf.

"Welcome, welcome," Tivan called out to her. "Such a lovely girl to have scored so high … so many eights with the young ladies of the Careers this year." He drew in a deep breath, though the smile was still broad. "I do hope that's not strictly on reputation."

"Perhaps some kind of reputation, but I assure you, that one is all mine," she replied haughtily, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder as she drew herself up taller in her seat. "Unlike last year, I have no family name to trade on, after all."

"Yet, I'm told there is still a tie?" Tivan said. "Is it true that you were involved with one of Odin's sons?"

For a moment, the smile slipped before Amora simply nodded. "To know Thor was to love him," she said softly.

"We all certainly would have agreed with you on that last year," Tivan said with a softened smile. "Only to be so sorely disappointed. Taken down by the smallest tribute in the Games."

Amora laid a hand over her heart at the memory and closed her eyes for a moment, though when she opened them again, it was with a spark of anger. "I suppose it's easy to underestimate a girl in the arena, but an angry one, a vengeful one… Mr. Tivan, surely you know the danger there."

"Oh yes," he agreed. "But last year, we also saw what happens when that same vengeful anger spirals out of control … I hope you're not that girl _this_ year, my dear Amora."

"No, certainly not," she assured him with a small smirk. "I've had a year to temper my wrath. Though may the gods help any who tempt it _this_ year."

"I doubt somehow that any of the gods are paying attention to the efforts of our tributes," Tivan said with a bit of a chuckle before he turned to the crowd to present her to them, slightly red-faced and insulted and not at all up to her usual standard of poise.

The production crew was finally hitting a stride now, and Amora had barely cleared the stage before Skurge was taking his seat with Patricia. The big guy looked insulted on Amora's behalf after the way the last interview had gone, so there was no mistaking the fact that Tivan had done Patricia absolutely no favors.

Add to that the fact that Skurge seemed reluctant to even speak to her beyond monosyllables, and it was clear Patricia was just… struggling.

It wasn't until she asked about Amora, though, that she got any traction at all, when he responded to her question about why he had volunteered with more than one word: "She should win."

"So …. Does that mean you have no plans to even try on your own behalf? What happens if she dies before you?"

Skurge looked troubled by the very idea, and his brows knitted together before he simply shook his head. "Not possible," he said. "I die in her defense — nothing else."

"I think you might be missing a few of the finer points to these Games, Skurge," Patricia said with a frown. "It can happen in ways outside of how you plan. It does all the time."

But Skurge very stubbornly shook his head. "She will win. And I will see it done."

Betsy was shaking her head at the display that Skurge was putting on with Patricia. "And they were trying to say you were the one that was stupidly following me?" she said quietly to Brian. "If that isn't idiocy at it's finest, purest form …"

"I feel like I should be insulted that you sound so surprised there's a bigger idiot than me out there," he whispered back with a little grin.

She looked at him blankly for a moment before covering her mouth with one hand, trying hard to hide the laughter as she lightly punched him in the arm. "You're terrible. And I love you for it."

He just had to grin her way that much wider as Patricia finally seemed to give up on Skurge and presented him to the crowd — who gave him a very muted response, considering his tight-lipped interview and just general … Skurge-ness.


	16. Smile for the Cameras

**Chapter 16: "Smile for the Cameras"**

"Competition makin' you nervous, _cherie?_ " Remy drawled out with a lazy grin as he leaned closer to Gwen. The two of them were seated backstage with the other tributes — and Gwen had to admit that she was nervous, though not for the reasons Remy seemed to think.

"Just anxious to get it over with," Gwen replied as she twisted some of the white and pink fabric of her dress in her hands. Now that the Careers had finished their interviews, it felt a little more _real_ — and watching the young girl from Five give the production assistants a 'touch me and you die' glare as she strutted up to the stage was only making it worse. Gwen didn't think she had much of a 'touch me and you die' glare, and she was starting to think she was going to need one.

Jessica Jones made her way over to her seat, though when Tivan offered her his hand to shake, she stopped short, looked down at it, narrowed her eyes for a moment, then gave him a sickly sweet fake smile of her own. "I don't think so," she said through the giant, obviously put-on grin.

"No?" Tivan looked honestly surprised and put out. "I assure you — I have been washing my hands between interviews, if you're worried…"

"I don't like being touched," she replied. "By anyone." She looked around the stage before she turned back to Tivan. "And I don't believe anyone here knows what real friendliness is. So … no."

Tivan's practiced smile fell for a moment as he looked her over before he shook his head. "Well, perhaps you can use that to your advantage in the arena, my dear girl."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll try, _old boy._ "

He grinned at her with a bit of a flash to his gaze that the cameras didn't catch. "But then again, it is difficult to fight someone without touching them, unless you intend to follow after one of the two Hawkeyes from last year?"

She tipped her head to the side just a hair and smirked at him with narrowed eyes. "Like I'm going to tell you anything I have in mind, or that I'd be stupid enough to try to echo something that didn't work in the past."

"You must have _something_. You did score a four, not a three, after all — like some of the other younger children this year."

"I do have something," she said, nodding lightly. "But like I said — that's not your business. If it was, you'd have been invited into the booth to help judge. And considering your private affairs that I read about? I don't think that's ever going to happen."

"Then I hope you are around long enough to show us what you can do in the arena," Tivan said shortly, already standing to present her to the crowd.

"You … really want to see what I can do?" Jessica asked as she got to her feet. She gave him a tight smile and flipped him off. "That's what I can do, asshole." She didn't even give the crowd the dignity of a _look_ as she tromped off the stage to her seat, leaving Tivan looking absolutely furious for a moment before he remembered to put on a smile for the cameras as he handed off to Patricia.

Gwen had to shake her head as she watched Five's boy head to the stage — no less surly-looking than his partner. He didn't seem to be _actively_ combative toward Patricia, shaking her hand at least, though he didn't smile.

"James Barnes," Patricia said as he took his seat. "It's a bit of a shock to see you volunteer after last year's fiasco. What drove you to do that?"

"Just didn't think anyone else needed to say goodbye to their friends and family on account of my not doing anything," he muttered, shrugging up one shoulder and looking clearly uncomfortable in his suit, despite MJ's best efforts.

"And you think you'll be able to make it back in one piece? That's … not exactly surprising, considering who your best friend was. Why don't you tell us how things are back home? I'm sure there are plenty here that were surprised to see you were alive after that incredible fire last year."

Bucky frowned hard at the mention of the fire that had been shown to Steve in last year's Games. "Yeah, the cameras missed the part where I got out through the window, _apparently_ ," he said with a deeply settling glare. "Do I look dead to you?" He gestured at himself, his tone suddenly fierce and not at all like the surly near-mumbles that he had been giving her earlier.

"Quite the contrary," Patricia said. "You look just as formidable as your best friend did when he sat here to introduce himself to Marvel."

"Steve's wasn't formidable," Bucky said with the ghost of a smirk. "Never was. That's what he kept me around for."

"So you're saying that you're the more dangerous … or you _were_ the more dangerous of the two of you?"

"Guess you'll just find out, won't you?" he said with a noncommittal shrug.

"I guess we will," she replied with a genuine smile. It was clear she was getting the better cases so far for interviews … if you discounted Skurge and Kilgrave. "Best of luck to you, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky didn't do much pausing to wave at the audience or cameras and just seemed to head in a straight line for the backstage waiting area, though Gwen had to smile when she saw the little girl from Six lightly punch him in the shoulder. "You did great!" Kamala assured him with a smile even as she headed out to her own interview and looked fairly nervous herself, wide-eyed on seeing just how large the crowd was, how bright the lights were, and how Tivan was grinning at her like he just _knew_ she was going to die and didn't care at all about it.

Still, somehow, Kamala managed to get out onto the stage without falling — to her ultimate relief — and even waved with both hands at the crowd as Tivan introduced her, though once she was in the chair, she felt supremely uncomfortable again as she felt, quite simply, too small for the overly large seat. How was she supposed to look intimidating when the _seat_ made her look tiny?

"How nice to meet you, Miss Khan," Tivan said with a grin. "Tell me — how are you faring with your support team?"

"Oh, I'm doing okay," she assured him with a quick nod. "My escort is actually very nice. She's been great to show me how to do things — like working the TV and where to go for snacks. You know, the important stuff!"

"Yes, very important, all things considered," Tivan laughed. "Were you terribly disappointed in your scores? I mean, there isn't too much a girl your size can do, really," he added in what didn't even pass as a consoling tone.

"Oh, you are _so_ wrong," Kamala said, shaking her head. "I can do plenty. And yeah, I was hoping for better scores. I guess… I guess people just can't get past how small I am." She glanced toward the audience and found the victors near the front, and her gaze slid past the annoyed-looking Schmidt to find Logan. When he smiled her way and gave her a little wink, she took in a deep breath and nodded. "But that's their mistake."

"Well, big talk from such a tiny girl," he laughed. "But we still wish you the very best, young lady."

"Oh, don't worry!" she said earnestly. "I've learned a lot while I've been here. I think you'll be surprised!"

He grinned her way before he presented her to the crowd as 'The Amazing Miss Marvel', which got a little bit better reaction than she'd expected. She was grinning to herself as she skipped off the stage, clearly feeling good about her interview, even if it had been a bit shorter than the ones before it. Tivan just didn't know what to do with the younger crowd, obviously — which was going to come back and bite him, considering just how _many_ young kids there were this year.

Of course, the next tribute was Brock Rumlow, and he was nothing like the sweet little girl Tivan had just interviewed. Thus far, Patricia had more or less gotten the easier interviews, but Tivan was flat-out snickering to himself backstage as Patricia sat down with the openly hostile young man in front of her. Brock simply refused to acknowledge the crowd or the cameras, dropping into the cushy seat like it was an imposition with his arms crossed and a glare on and a half-muttered, "Let's just get this over with."

"Fair enough," she said with a little frown. "What inspired you to volunteer? Was it to save a friend, or—"

"No," he said shortly. "Just figured it was about time Six had a victor. Should've had one last year, but seeing as that didn't work out? Guess I'll do it."

"And you've gotten a lot of good advice from your mentor, I'm sure."

"Plenty," Brock agreed, the beginnings of a smirk at the edge of his expression.

"I'm not surprised," she said. "You're the first one he seems to have really taken a shining to in recent memory. What is it you did to catch his eye?"

"Guess he only takes to the competent ones," Brock said, this time with the fully realized smirk on. "You asking for a demonstration?"

"I'm not sure what kind of demonstration you could give us now. Do you have anyone you're really gunning for — in particular?"

"Let's just say I'll be weeding out the weak links," Brock said, and there was no mistaking the malicious glint in his gaze.

"Sounds like you have a plan in mind," she said before she frowned a bit. "Your District Six … male tribute, ladies and gentlemen."

Brock all but swaggered off the stage, though if he had hoped to intimidate the next tribute up on the docket, he was sorely mistaken. Clara just wasn't having it at _all_ , hardly even sparing him a glance as the stage reset and Tivan returned, looking positively _delighted_ over the prospect of interviewing Clara — the closest thing to a "legacy" tribute they had that year.

The roar of the crowd was much higher for Clara than it had been for several of the tributes before her, and Tivan allowed it to go on until its natural end, clearly enjoying himself before he motioned for Clara to sit. "Clara Creed," he said, pausing over her last name with a clear grin. "I have to admit, we were _all_ surprised to hear _that_ name in the Games again."

"Then you were the only one," she replied with her chin tipped up slightly. "I figured it was just a matter of time, since the other brothers didn't get pulled."

"And I'm sure, if all goes well for you, we'll have two Creeds in the victor's circle in just a few days time — if you hold to the family tradition. Or are you hoping to go against the grain this year?" Tivan asked her.

"Oh, don't fool yourself, Tivan," she said with a cold glint in her smile. "Victor is the only psychopath in the family."

"Perhaps," Tivan allowed. "Certainly we didn't expect such a _lovely_ young lady when your name was called — no offense to your brother, but you truly do outshine him, my dear."

"Well I did have big brothers to protect me," she said. "But there are plenty of other kids with much more to prove than I have."

"And you intend to let them, is that it?" Tivan asked, both eyebrows raised high to illustrate his obvious surprise at hearing a Creed say anything that wasn't nasty about her competitors.

"I'm not letting anyone do anything," she said with a little shake of her head. "But I certainly have nothing to prove by anyone."

"You're setting your own path, that's for sure," Tivan agreed. "And we're all looking forward to seeing just how you'll differentiate yourself from your brother — and from last year's victor." He grinned toothily at her.

"Comparisons are so boring," she replied. "And for small-minded people. Anyone stupid enough to compare the three of us to each other … well. Shortsighted would be a complement."

"Yes, actions do speak louder than words — and we look forward to seeing you in action, Miss Creed," he said shortly, standing to present her to the crowd so that the audience could go nuts again, using the turn to give her a bit of a glare for not playing along that the cameras didn't catch as they both moved off for the next interview.

She was sure to give him one last parting shot before she left, though, when he shook her hand and she leaned in closer. "It's a shame you won't be here next year." The predatory smile was unmistakable as she grinned his way for just a second before turning the smile to the crowd and positively stalking off the stage.

On the other hand, though, Scott and Patricia's interview could almost have been called friendly by comparison as Scott came out with a nervous smile and shook her hand politely, motioning for her to sit down before he did.

"Such a gentleman," she said with a broad smile. "What a refreshing change of pace!"

"That's just how I was taught," he said honestly, looking a bit embarrassed by the compliment.

"I'm glad to hear that, really," she said with a little laugh. "I take it your parents are to be given the credit for that and not the orphanage?"

"My mom," Scott admitted.

"That's a good thing to have learned from her. I'm sure you'll keep other lessons she taught you in mind too." Patricia took a deep breath as she resettled and considered her. "I'm sorry if it's too intrusive, but I'm sure our viewers are dying to know ... how old were you when you came to live at the orphanage — and your brother was taken to Nine?"

Scott frowned for the slightest moment. "I'm sure it's all in the records," he said. "I was just shy of six, so Alex would have been three at the time — since I know you'll ask him too. I doubt he remembers it much, though."

"And what about you? Do you remember much about your brother?"

Again, Scott had to pause, the frown deepening before he simply nodded. "Yeah," he said, obviously not wanting to give her anything more to use against him or his brother.

She gave him a kind smile that truly showed her reluctance to dig any deeper for his sake before she simply moved on. "Enough about the past. How have things been going for you since you've come to the Capitol? Have you made friends? Learned a lot?"

"Yeah, I've learned plenty," he said with a small nod, steadfastly not looking Logan's way. "As for friends, well — it's been nice to reconnect with Alex."

"And how are you getting along with your mentor? As I understand it, first timers can be a little … unaccustomed to how things are run."

"Yeah, you'd be right about that," Scott said with the slightest of smirks. "Though I'd say it's more that he just _doesn't_ follow rules than that he's unaccustomed to them."

"That doesn't really surprise me with his reputation," Patricia said with a smirk. "But it does leave you in a good position for sponsors, so let's hope that it all works out well."

"Yeah, we'll see," he said, sensing the end of the interview as he stood for her again, offering her his hand to shake one more time.

"Good luck, Scott," she said with a genuine smile, quiet enough just for him to hear over the crowd.

With Scott leaving the stage, that meant it was time for Gwen's interview, and she straightened suddenly, surprised at how quickly that had gone as the production assistant ushered her toward the spotlights and the audience — and she found herself wishing she had Patricia as her interviewer instead of Tivan. At least Patricia was nice. Or ... nice to _nice_ people.

On her way onto the stage, though, Gwen felt a hand on her shoulder and turned in surprise to see that her district partner was giving her an encouraging grin that really did seem to bolster her spirits somehow. "You gon' be jus' fine, _petit_ ," Remy promised her. "Knock 'em dead."

She just nodded his way for a moment before she hit the stage, blinking hard against the bright lights as somehow she made her way over to the chair. How did people even navigate in these dresses and the super bright lights and all that noise? It was totally overwhelming.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stacey," Tivan said, though some of the toothy grin had slipped since his last interview. "We heard such lovely things about you last year."

"Well, as you can see, it's all true — the nice stuff, anyway," Gwen said with a tiny smirk as she smoothed out the white and pink of her dress.

"I'm sure that's entirely true," he said silkily. "Though I'm not sure all the sugar and spice will do you many favors once you leave the protection of the stage, my dear."

"That's too bad, because I don't plan to change a thing about me once I get there," Gwen said honestly. "I think it works for me — being me."

"Well if you can be the first to charm your way out of the arena, we'll have to hold a special parade for you," he said with a smile. "But that was not the way it ran for your darling Peter, is it?"

"No," she said, and she looked honestly angry that he'd brought up Peter even though Norman had told her it was a distinct possibility. She couldn't help it; she just hated that they were dragging Peter down for being _nice_ , for being _Peter_. "But that doesn't make me any less proud of him."

"Of course not," he said with a little pat on her arm. "It was just disappointing to see him throw away his chances."

"He did what was right," Gwen maintained. "Or at least what he thought was right. And that makes him a hero."

"Yes. Such a little hero, champion of those much stronger than himself. Precious, really."

"More than you can understand," Gwen said with a determined sort of nod. "And precious in a way you can't even conceive of."

He grinned delightedly. "So I'm told. Did you grieve for long before you took up with the young Osborn? I see in my notes his father is your mentor. Is there anything serious in the works should you find your way out?"

Gwen's eyes flashed with anger as she got to her feet. "There's nothing going on there," she insisted, gaining a bit of heat with every word spoken. "I've been spending all my time with Peter's Aunt May, if you must know, so no, I haven't even _finished_ grieving. And I _won't_ give you the relationship drama _you guys_ made up to torture Peter in his Games. It was just _wrong_."

Tivan just grinned wider after he looked properly taken back for a moment. "Such passion," he said. "Perhaps you will do better than we thought. Your scores seemed to indicate a certain mousy nature … but clearly, that was underestimating you a bit. How nice to see. Perhaps we _do_ have a spider that can make it to the end."

"You bet I can," Gwen said through her teeth, still on her feet and glaring as Tivan just seemed to be that much more thrilled as he presented her to the audience as "Spider-Woman."

Gwen still had clear anger in her gaze as she swept backstage, though as he passed her, Remy was sure to give her a broad smile. "You showin' your bite, lil' miss spider," he teased her, and she was so shocked by the tease that she couldn't help but smile.

She shook her head at Remy as he stepped out onto the stage like he owned the place, his long coat billowing out behind him with every step as he waved and blew kisses at the crowd. He had always been more comfortable with this part of being in the Capitol, and Gwen couldn't help but be a little jealous.

Once Remy had drunk in the crowd's adoration, he turned his attention to Patricia with a deep, sweeping bow as he took her hand and kissed it, and Patricia looked surprised for only a moment before her professionalism returned and she gestured for Remy to take a seat.

"Mr. LeBeau, are you always such a charmer?"

"Only when dere is a pretty girl like you, Miss Trish," he said with a grin.

"Then you must be working like it's a full time job around here," she replied with an easy smile. "Plenty of pretty girls in the running. Any of them you might be teaming up with?"

"We gon' see how it goes," Remy said with a little shrug. "But you right — dere's plenty of pretty dis year. You jus' seen my district partner, _non_? Ain't she a vision?"

"She's quite the lovely young lady," she agreed. "But I'd like to talk more about you for now." When he simply smiled her way, she continued, "That ... is an interesting accent, Mr. LeBeau."

"What, you ain't never heard Cajun before?" he asked with a winning smile. "Lil farther north den we used t'be, but we moved outta Four during de war — leastways, das what ol' Remy been told."

"I can't say that I have, but it suits you well," she said, still smiling his way. "What can we expect from our Cajun charmer in the arena?"

"Oh, now, _cher_ , I can't go tellin' tings like dat," Remy said, shaking his head with an easy smile, leaning back in his seat and looking like the very picture of comfort. "You don' worry your pretty head 'bout a ting. Ol' Remy can handle his own self."

"I'm sure you can, Mr. LeBeau, if reputation has anything to do with it."

"Miss Trish, what pack a lies you been listenin' to?" he teased. "I ain't done nuttin' yet here to earn me a reputation, and I know I ain't got one for fightin' back home."

"Fighting, no," she said with a little smirk. "But you're still quite well known for _other_ reasons."

"It's true," he allowed, though the playful smirk was only widening as he said it. "You done heard about Remy's good looks and charm all de way out here den?"

She couldn't help but laugh a bit as she shook her head. "That ... was not something we were warned about, I'm afraid."

"Ain't nothin' to be afraid of. Jus' 'cause you didn' know 'bout ol' Remy don't mean a pretty ting like you can't keep up, I'm sure," he teased.

"You are just ... " She let out a little sigh and shook her head. "A joy to interview. Good luck, Mr. LeBeau. I hope to speak with you again."

"Miss Trish," Remy said, leaning forward a bit. "It would be an honor." With that, he gave her another wide, winning smile before he swept off the stage, even managing a little grin and quick side hug for Kitty on her way out to top it all off — clearly wanting to share his good mood.

Gwen just had to shake her head at him as he sat down next to her. "That went well," she muttered to him, and he positively beamed at her.

"Don' worry, _cher_ , I talked you up good for 'em," he chuckled, and she couldn't help but shake her head at him as the interviews moved on.


	17. Interest Waning Ratings Soaring

**Chapter 17: "Interest Waning; Ratings Soaring"**

By that point in the interviews, Tivan seemed to be in a slightly better mood than before, working off of his success at riling Gwen up as well as his glee over seeing Patsy having to deal with Remy — so by the time he got himself seated across from Kitty, he had a lot of his confident swagger back as he took her in.

"Miss Pryde, it's so good to meet you in person this year," Tivan said with a wink and a smile as he leaned forward. "This does seem to be quite the year for nostalgia, remembrances, don't you think? Why, just last year, your good friend was opposite me on this very stage. Who could forget the amazing Nightcrawler? Though of course, you likely knew him better as simply Kurt."

"Yes, well ... I'm not the fashionista type, so I couldn't tell you about that side of things," Kitty said, already on her guard after having seen the way Tivan handled all of the interviews up to that point.

Tivan shook his head and smiled at her. "Won't you tell us about this last year since the loss of your friend? Has it affected the way you're preparing for your own Games at all, having seen your friend before you?"

"I'd really rather not," Kitty replied, her arms crossed as she made it clear even in her body language that she wasn't going to give Tivan what he was looking for. "I think like most of us that had a friend in it last year — we tried to just put it behind us."

"Of course, of course," he said in a consoling tone. "It must still be hard."

"Yet that's all you want to talk about," Kitty said with a frown.

"You must understand the curiosity," Tivan said as if this was obvious. "You can't expect us to believe that it hasn't changed the way you play the Games."

"Oh, I understand it," she said with a nod. "But enough has been taken from us that what little we have left is _private._ " She let the statement hang in the air between them for a moment longer before she narrowed her eyes. "And it's going to stay that way."

"I hope for your sake that's true, but as we all know, the Games have a way of revealing the innermost thoughts."

"Only when you push to drag it from people," Kitty countered. "Pretty uninspired journalism just dragging up the past."

Tivan just laughed and held up both hands. "Then I won't push my curiosity any further," he said before he leaned in a bit. "But tell me, Miss Pryde — how do you plan to distinguish yourself from the pack this year? A score of five is hardly noteworthy, though it's a good, respectable score for an outlier district."

"And the scores, as I understand it, are hardly reliable."

"They do give us only a taste and not the whole story," he agreed, looking almost disappointed about it.

"Is there anything you wanted that might actually matter?" Kitty asked with a bit of a blush rising up. "Or are you just trying to stir us up?"

"I," Tivan said, drawing himself up a bit, "am simply trying to help you distinguish yourself, _Miss Pryde_. You want to be memorable before you go out there. The odds never favor the forgotten tributes." His eyes flashed for a moment before he leaned back in his chair and fell into another one of his practiced smiles.

"The odds never favor anyone," she replied with some heat. "Unless you're some foolish old man in a powdered wig."

"We'll just have to see then, won't we?" Tivan asked, the glare rising back up as he stood and didn't even bother to wish her luck as he presented her to the crowd.

"We will," she shot back before leaning past him. "Hi Trish! Great to see you here," she called out as she headed off with a wide grin.

As Tivan headed backstage, Kitty couldn't quite hear what he was muttering under his breath, but it was something about how 'repeat tributes' like her and the others were impossible to deal with because they'd already been through the ropes once and it just wasn't 'new' anymore.

Nine's young man came out with an unsure smile that was nearly an outright copy of his brother's. Aside from coloring, and a bit of build … the two could have been twins — especially with the way Alex's stylist had clearly tried to emphasize the family resemblance and even age him up a bit with a little makeup and creative tailoring to match Scott better.

"Hi, Mr. Summers — do you mind if I call you Alex?" Trish said with a warm smile as she offered him her hand and welcomed him to the stage.

"Please. Everybody calls me Alex. I don't know what to do with 'Mr. Summers,'" he said with a little nod as he took the offered seat.

"You and your district partner — it says here that you knew each other back home. That's nice to see — some solidarity from before the Games begin. How did you meet?"

"Working in the field," Alex said with a little shrug. "Kitty's always been nice, so she's friends with just about everybody, though."

"Is everyone in Nine that friendly?" she asked. "I seem to remember her at the Wagners' when we went through to do the interviews."

"Yeah, the twins love her," Alex agreed. "But Nine ... it's like one big community. Even spread out, we get together for harvests, things like that." He grinned. "It's got some excellent parties."

"That ... is not something I expected to hear, honestly," she said before she tried a different track with the younger Summers boy. "Any girls back home that hold your heart?"

He just laughed at her. "A couple, but hey, I'm thirteen. I got time." He paused as the words seemed to hit his ears properly, and for the first time, his smile faltered. "Or at least ... I did, I guess I should say."

"You never know, you could come out of this," she said with an encouraging look. She took a deep breath before she drove forward with the question that the audience all knew _had_ to come up: "But I'm sure you never expected to meet your big brother here. How has that been? Have you spent any time together?"

"Loads," Alex said, though he pulled a bit of a face when he said it. "He's trying to 'look out for me,' which — hello. Avenger Games. He's a dork."

"Family trait?" Trish teased with a sparkle in her eyes. "Or is that his own personal issue?"

"Hey, you tell me. Do I seem like a dork to you?" he asked earnestly, gesturing at his suit and tie and flashing her a crooked smile.

"Not too much," she admitted, still smiling. "Anything you'd like to say to your family back home?"

He shrugged and seemed to think it over for a moment before he just waved. "Sure, I guess. Hi, Mom and Dad — see ya soon. Probably."

Trish hid her smile well as he finished his message and then presented the younger Summers to the crowd, though the light mood of her interview with Alex very quickly evaporated when Tivan took the stage with Yuriko.

"Miss Oyama," he said with an oily smile. "We've been looking forward to having you out here with us, considering your score is the highest out of everyone in the running this year. How _did_ you do that?"

She glared at him for a moment, sizing him up slowly before a smile started to creep over her features. "By simply being myself," she replied easily. "How else would such a thing happen?"

"That is truly impressive. And yet we know so little about you other than your disarming presence and your high score."

"There is nothing else you need to know," she said shortly.

"So that's all there is to it? Just get on to the Games?" he asked.

"It's far better than listening to your drivel," she replied as she simply looked out into the dark crowd. "I think we've all had quite enough of that."

Tivan frowned. "It helps some of the other tributes to be able to get their stories out there before the Games begin, but I can see you simply don't need that, do you?"

"It helps no one but your frail ego," she replied in an easy, slow drawl. "Delicate thing."

Tivan shook his head, clearly deciding enough was enough as he stood to present Yuriko to the crowd, who at this point were far less warm and receptive and were starting to honestly get a little listless, both from nerves watching the Tens interview and simply because there were so many kids to get through at once.

But Tivan did shoot Trish a horrible smile as he actually wished her 'good luck' with the tribute from Ten that she was set to interview next. Trish tried to return the smile, but as soon as Arkady Gregorovitch came out, it was clear that it was going to be a horrible experience for everyone involved.

The tall, broad young man was … massive. He had a more disturbing demeanor than Tivan did … smiling in a smug way as he all but pushed her backward by sheer presence.

"Right then," she said as she tried to gather herself. "Well, Mr. Gregorovitch — this year, it really looks like your district will be the one to watch, considering your scores."

"Of course it is," Arkady replied with a condescending tone. "Scores mean nothing compared to everything else, though. These children…" he said with a bit of a chuckle as he gestured to where the others were seated. "Are nothing. They will break quickly."

"Then you're not at all worried about going into the arena tomorrow?" she pressed, both eyebrows raised as it was clear the answer had thrown her.

"Just tired of all the time wasted. I come here to kill. Let me kill." He said it off-handedly, as if it was simply part of his usual schedule.

It was clear Arkady's attitude had taken Trish back as she tried to find something she could work with from that answer before she simply had to shake her head and let out all her breath. "It sounds like you're ready, then."

He chuckled at her expression and waved her off as if it was the funniest thing said all night. "So nervous, you little girls."

She frowned hard, jutting out her chin almost unconsciously at the clear brush off. "Well, this is my first Games, but I have to admit, you're not exactly a typical tribute, are you?"

"Typical," he said like a curse, "is boring."

"And you're certainly not that," she agreed before she cleared her throat and quickly got to her feet to present him to the crowd, ready to end the interview with the very off-setting young man.

He stood up — somehow looking bigger than before as he smirked down at her and cut a path off the stage as the lights died down on that section, only to warm up again for the youngest tribute in that year's Games, little Monet St. Croix.

"Miss St. Croix — may I call you Monet?" Tivan asked with an almost-kind sort of smile that he reserved for the very youngest tributes in the Games every year.

"You may," she said, sitting up straight with a mysterious smile of her own.

"Monet, I hope you don't mind my saying so, but we were all blown away when we saw that the youngest tribute this year had a score of-," Tivan leaned forward, eyes wide to illustrate just how surprised he was, "- _seven_!"

"It's not terrible," she said with a shrug. "But not incredibly impressive either."

"For a girl your age? My dear, it's the same score last year's victor had. Forgive me, but it is, in fact, quite impressive."

"Yet Miss Pryde from Nine had a point — the scores mean so little in the long run," Monet said cryptically.

"That may be true, but still, we're all dying to know just what it is about you that impressed the judges. Surely you can tell us — if it doesn't matter in the long run," Tivan prompted.

"I'm afraid I don't know what I did," she said easily. "I simply made use of what was in front of me and then left before the time ran out."

"Resourceful and efficient, then — that must be part of it," Tivan said with a little nod. "But tell me, Monet — you're the youngest this year. How are you feeling about tomorrow? Nervous? Excited? Do you have any friends with the older tributes who might be able to help?"

"Um … not particularly, no," she said, though she glanced back to where she knew Miles was off stage. "There are quite a few nice people in the Games this year. Perhaps I won't have to kill them."

Tivan looked taken aback for a moment as he looked over the little girl. "You certainly seem confident in your abilities," he said, not quite keeping all the surprise out of his tone.

"What good would it do me to doubt myself now?" she asked as if he was completely out of his mind for suggesting such a thing.

"I suppose that is entirely true," Tivan said, shaking his head the slightest bit before he simply chuckled and offered her his hand. "I certainly hope that your confidence isn't misplaced, Monet. We'll all be watching," he added as he turned her out toward the crowd to present her.

She looked out with a demure smile before she glided across the stage to take her seat — positively unafraid of the Ten boy next to her, and not giving him even the slightest of her attention as she smoothed out the fabric on her dress while he glared down at her.

Miles, on the other hand, was all but bouncing in place as the time came for his interview, brimming with nervous energy as the production assistant waved him toward the stage. He had both hands shoved deep in the pockets of his red-lined black suitcoat as he took a few faltering steps out into the lights, though he caught sight of Sam in the audience giving him the 'go on' look and remembered to smile and managed to pull one hand out of his pocket and wave — and then shake Trish's hand before he got seated.

"Miles, is it?" she asked as she gave him a smile. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, you know, just trying to wrap my head around three days of cramming," Miles said, waving his hand and ending by pointing at his own forehead. "It's like studying for the most _stressful test ever_ , but other than that, it's been good. It's been real good. How're you?"

"I'm great," she said, still smiling warmly. "Do you feel like you're ready for this test?"

"Oh heck no," Miles said, shaking his head several times. "No way. I need, like, five hundred more hours and a learner's permit first before I'd feel ready. But that's just the way it goes sometimes. Pop quizzes. Only, you know, most pop quizzes don't end in death."

"Worst test ever," she said with a smirk. "Is there an area you consider yourself to be an expert at after your three days training?"

"I guess I'm pretty good with tr— he-e-e-ey." Miles stopped in mid-sentence and looked to Sam before he looked to Trish. "HEY. You were trying to find out what I'm good at so I'll give it away!"

She laughed a bit at him and shook her head. "Just trying to make conversation, Miles. What would you like to talk about if not what you've learned? I'm game for whatever you'd like."

"Oh, really? I totally didn't prepare for any of… well… I guess... " Miles leaned forward and put his chin on both hands in closed fists. "Huh. Well ... I guess I could tell you about what I've been working on in school? I'm pretty decent in science. Which ... I know. You don't really expect that in Eleven, but somebody's gotta do all the processing in the plants and the vibranium mining and stuff…"

"Yeah, please — tell me about what you've come up with. I'm sure it's amazing."

He grinned at her widely and seemed to be much more relaxed now that they'd changed the topic. "Okay — so," he said, settling in to tell his story. "I've been working on a way to keep people safe? You know, when they're working with vibranium and stuff — and I'm trying to set up a system that distributes shocks across your whole body. So, say you get hit with falling ore, it would distribute the kinetic energy…. That's the theory, anyway. Right now all I can do is get it to hold a charge."

"That sound really complex," Trish said as she leaned closer, genuinely involved. "How did you come up with a system like that — even in theory?"

"I just figured — well, people are stronger than we give them credit for being," Miles said sheepishly. "And why not give them a little help to make them even stronger — use our natural strength… you don't think it's a stupid idea? I haven't gotten it to work at all…." He looked shocked by her interest in his science project.

"I think that if it could make people safer, it's a good idea that I'm sure could be used in more than just mining."

"Oh, I hope so," Miles said earnestly. "I really want to be able to help where I can. I just — my mom worked in the mines when I was a kid before we lost her, so that's where I got my start."

"Then I hope she's watching out for you, Miles," she said with a soft smile. "It sounds like you're just chock-full of ideas that need to be implemented."

Miles grinned at her outright, totally relaxed as Trish presented him as this year's Spider-Man, and he was positively beaming by the time he sat back down in his seat backstage, pleased with how that had gone, while some of the other tributes looked a bit jealous that he'd been allowed to go 'off script', so to speak.

They were approaching the end of the interviews, and it was the last for Tivan as America came strolling out — she'd negotiated her look with Noh down to a short skirt and sneakers, though the top was nicer and had stars — and it was clear Tivan was ready to be done. The interviews had not been good to him this year — he was obviously on his way out.

But America was not going to make things easy on him to be his last interview subject. She dropped sideways into her seat instead of sitting normally and draped her legs over the sides, regarding him for a moment like he was a bug and she was trying to decide if he was worth swatting while the polite applause died down.

"So ask your questions already, stupid," she prompted when he seemed to be waiting for the crowd.

"You are … Miss Chavez … a truly … unique tribute. A volunteer from an outlier with one of the highest scores of the Games ... " He paused, trying to find a way to be more eloquent. "What planet did you come from, really?"

"Not this one," she said dryly. "It's okay; I know it's dazzling, but you're gonna have to get through the interview, old man, so take a deep breath, keep your eyes up, and try not to faint."

"A bit of back and forth is usually how this works, Miss Chavez," he said, leaning forward a bit.

"Alright, then ask me something," she said, gesturing with one hand in a clear 'come on' routine.

"Why did you volunteer?"

"Because my idiot district partner volunteered," she said easily.

"So it was for a boy then," he said with a smirk.

"Not in the way you're thinking," she said.

"Oh, I've heard the denials before — all of them. This rings no different."

She just raised an eyebrow at him before she started to laugh. "Right. Well that would be an interesting theory if I dated _boys_ , wouldn't it?" she asked, waving her hand.

"Well that's good news, for those that don't fall into that category," he said with a little laugh.

"We've got some lookers this year, too — did you notice? Girl from Two — and the stylists from Seven and Eight…"

"Oh, I'm quite sure the stylists won't be fiddling around with any more victors," Tivan said with a laugh. "But the girl from Two — your time is running short with that one."

"All I'm saying is she's cute. Nothing wrong with looking. But if she gets anywhere close to me in the arena, she's dead. I'm not playing games, and I came here with an idiot to save so he can go home to his boyfriend, get married, and have a family."

"How charming," he said, looking totally shocked. "So you have no plans to make it out at all then?"

"That's what I said — you need me to repeat it?" she drawled lazily. "Been saying since the start that I'm sending him back to his boyfriend. Why not listen?"

"I don't believe we've ever had a situation quite like this before — in the open. Secret promises, certainly, but not like this."

"It's alright, Tivan. I know you're old-fashioned, but times are changing. Maybe you'll even get to watch the wedding. Not that they'd invite you. They have _taste_."

He tried for a bit of an amused laugh, but it just didn't come out right as he tried — and failed — to hide the sneer. "Charming. As I've come to expect from Twelve."

"Yeah, I'm just sorry Kate didn't win so she could give you a piece of her mind too," America shot back with a glare. "Little one-two. Her punch, my kick. You'd be a soprano in three seconds flat, with a glass jaw too." She didn't wait for him to respond, either, deciding for herself that the interview was over as she slid to her feet and just gave him a little wave. "Have fun at your retirement party. I'll send Billy out to meet Trish for when he does his victory interviews. Good practice for him." With that, she sashayed off, leaving Tivan looking almost purple at how that had gone.

And Trish was waiting when Billy came out a short moment later, ready to greet him warmly. "Well. One of Twelve's rough and tumble gang," she said with a smile.

"Oh, I don't know that you could call us a gang. That ... sounds more intimidating and more organized than we actually are," Billy said with a small sort of smile. "We're just ... you know ... friends."

"It's been a hard few years on your little group of friends, hasn't it?" she asked. "But your volunteering — that had to be the highlight of the Reapings this year."

He smiled sheepishly. "I wasn't trying to… I just couldn't say goodbye to any more friends. Especially not Teddy," he explained softly.

"It seemed like he was having trouble saying goodbye to you too," she pointed out. "It was very sweet."

"Yeah, well. I love him," Billy said honestly. "So what else could I do?"

"All you can do is come back," she agreed.

"That's what I'm trying for, anyway," Billy said. "I've got some pretty good help in America, though — I guess you just saw."

"She's a great friend, isn't she?" Trish said. "I hope it all works out, but it's a tough field all the way around."

"Don't I know it," Billy agreed, shaking his head. "But we'll see how it goes. Maybe I can still win, right? Anything's possible."

"It must be, with the group that we have here — anything is still possible." She stood and presented Billy to the crowd, and as she'd done with a handful of the kids, she made sure to wish him luck sincerely when the cameras and microphones couldn't pick it up before he headed off the stage and she made her way to center to meet Tivan and wrap it up while the tributes headed back to their suites with their mentors.


	18. The First Cannons

**Chapter 18: "The First Cannons"**

* * *

 _July 7: Day One of the Games_

 _Capitol Plaza_

* * *

The crowd was gathering for the big launch, the beginning of the Games. After all the prep work getting everything in place, it was finally time to get things rolling — and get Thanos' attention distracted so they could focus on the more important things, like setting up for the revolution in just six months' time.

It was almost a shame that this year would be the last, because Tivan was on his way out as an interviewer, and Fury would have preferred working with Trish anyway. But this one last time, Fury put on a painful smile, straightened his shoulders, and met the bright lights and cameras with a Gamemaker's poise as the deafening roar began. It was a Quarter Quell, and the excitement over the possibilities was palpable as Fury and Tivan sat down underneath the large screen following the transports carrying the tributes to the arena. The cameras showed nothing of the landscape that would give anything away, and Tivan was positively beside himself with showmanship-fueled excitement.

"So, tell us, Director," Tivan said as soon as Fury was seated, in a breathless tone that told his audience he simply _couldn't_ wait any longer. "This year, the Quarter Quell — what will be different about this Games as compared to the last twenty-four? We know what was announced, that there will be a death every day, but just how do you intend to follow through?"

"Aside from the obvious — the tributes themselves — we have quite a few surprises in store this year, one of which I prefer to keep a secret until the time comes that we will likely have to reveal it," Fury said clearly, perfectly at ease and in control.

"We'll certainly be holding our breaths," Tivan said, shaking his head. "And I suppose, if the tributes don't keep up the kill count, we'll find out." He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"That's the long and short of it, yes," Fury replied with a smirk. "The Games will bring out their most vicious tendencies — if for no other reason than to end it. There will be no extended, happy campfires this time out."

"That will certainly be different from last year," Tivan replied. He glanced toward the screen as the transports landed. The cameras didn't show the kids being unloaded, but everyone in attendance knew that was what was happening. "Now then, we're all about to see this year's arena — anything to say before the grand reveal? I was hoping for Washington myself after the little tease you put in last year…"

"Washington was a bit overrated," Fury replied, waving a hand. "Too many hiding places. The arena last year was really too busy for the group we had, and it kept the tributes apart more than we anticipated — letting those happy campfires last far longer than necessary."

"So something else entirely?" Tivan asked, sounding intrigued.

"This year, our tributes will need to be far more savvy about their supplies, for one thing," Fury said with a nod.

"With this particular crop of tributes, that will play to their strengths. As I recall from last night's interviews, there was much to be said about brain over brawn," Tivan noted with an interested sort of frown.

"All the brains in the world won't do them any good if they have no survival skills," Fury pointed out. "This arena — more so than others — will push them to make use of everything around them. And the opportunity for found weapons is next to nothing."

"So the tributes will be fighting not only each other but their surroundings," Tivan summed up with an excited sort of smile. "You're certainly making it clear just how we can expect a death at least once a day."

"More than you can believe," Fury said. "Limited resources, limited weapon choices — along with some of our classic surprises — and a special twist for the Quell. All set in one of our most inhospitable arenas."

As Fury spoke, the camera panned out slightly to show the red arches against the already blazing morning sun, the desert mountains in the distance only providing enough shade closer into the impressive peaks — though the Tesseract in the center of the desert was nowhere near any kind of shelter.

* * *

 _Underneath the Arena_

* * *

There just hadn't been enough time to prepare in the Capitol, Scott reflected as he looked over his outfit for the Games. The whole thing was deep reds and browns, a light tee shirt and a windbreaker with lightweight tan pants and boots. Nothing incredibly heavy, so that had to mean it wouldn't be cold… unless it _did_ get cold and the whole point was to force them into finding good shelter or building fires to give away their position….

Scott frowned down at his hands while Jubilee made her observations of the Games uniform, coming to a lot of the same conclusions he had. He suddenly wasn't sure he was ready for this. Not that he could imagine anyone ever _was_.

As for Logan, he hadn't really said anything yet, though that was because the people in charge of how things ran had waited to the very _last_ minute to tell the victors and stylists what the final twist was. They were also quick to inform the victors that it was part of their final duty before the Games started in earnest to explain that last twist to their tributes.

Logan watched from a distance as Jubilee went over Scott one final time, looking a bit green at what he knew. It occurred to him that some of the victors wouldn't bother telling the kids that last little tidbit of the Games, but he couldn't even consider letting Scott go in without knowing. He glanced up at the clock — there were still at least ten minutes before they were going to launch.

He waited until Jubilee looked like she was done fussing, though the fact that Scott was absently rubbing his arm where the tracker had been placed had Logan scowling at the action. There was no way the kid knew the extent of what had been done, but it still had Logan _mad_. When Scott looked up and caught Logan scowling, he shook his head minutely.

"Don't worry. I'll be out of your hair in—" Scott checked the clock. "—eight minutes."

"I don't want you outta my hair," Logan muttered before he let out a sigh. "I'd trade places with you if I could." He gestured to Scott's arm. "Guard that thing. Please."

Scott looked surprised at the tone and glanced up to meet Logan's gaze. "What, all that talk about pressure points and you come out worried about my _arm_?" he asked, his head tipped to the side. It wasn't a jab or a tease; he really didn't know where Logan was going with this — and couldn't understand why Logan seemed so … he would have said 'concerned' if it was anybody but Logan.

Logan nodded. "Wasn't even a thought until they told us what they did to you guys. Nasty little surprise from the Capitol if ... there aren't enough deaths."

Scott frowned and glanced down at his arm before he had to shake his head. "Yeah, Quarter Quell. Gotta be a death every day… so they have to enforce that, right?" He sighed and straightened up at the shoulders to meet Logan's gaze again. "So. What did they do? Might as well tell me now before I find out myself the hard way."

"As I understand it — and I hope I'm wrong — if no one dies, one of you will be randomly poisoned." Logan looked beyond frustrated as he told Scott, and he couldn't just stand still.

Scott took in a deep breath on hearing it, stunned into temporary silence before he simply had to shake his head. "So we could do everything right and still die," he said as he ran both hands through his hair and looked _mad._ This changed everything about the way he had been approaching the Games, the way he had planned ahead. He _couldn't_ plan for that, and he knew it.

Logan just nodded and breathed out a quiet 'yeah'. "I'll do everything I can—"

"Yeah. I'll try not to get 'randomly' poisoned," Scott muttered. "I doubt it'll _really_ be random, but..." He sighed and got to his feet. "Guess that's one way to enforce that rule. Let's just hope they never have to use it."

"Which rule?" Jubilee asked. "The fight to the death one?" She was worrying her lip and bouncing just a bit before she tried — again — to fix his hair. "Because they are pretty sticky about that one."

Scott halfheartedly ducked out of her reach. "The fight every day rule," he said. "No rest for the wicked, I guess you could call it."

Jubilee tried to smile for him, but Logan just locked his jaw down a bit tighter on hearing it. The signal came through, and it was clear that it was time to get moving. "Watch your back," Logan muttered quietly.

"I'll be fine," Scott said with a sharp little nod.

* * *

Miles watched his mentor disappear as the little tube he was in rose up toward the arena. He'd never seen Sam look so upset before, but then again, having to tell someone there was a time bomb in their arm was probably an upsetting experience. Not that Miles would know something like that; he had very little experience in the time bomb reveal department. But it sure sounded like something that would be upsetting.

He was absently rubbing his arm as the platform rose before he reminded himself to stop doing that. He really didn't want to accidentally set that thing off. Sam had said he only had to worry about it if it was a _hard_ hit, like bone-breaking, but Miles felt like he was completely justified in a little paranoia over this kind of thing. It was only his life that was at stake, right?

He gulped in a little air and sort of nodded to himself as the platform continued to rise until, suddenly, the first rays of blinding sun peeked over the edge and then flooded the whole thing, and Miles found himself squinting against the bright sun and trying to take in the sights as quickly as he could while a monotonous voice counted down from 60.

The first thing that registered was the fact that it was _hot_. Not humid hot, like back home, but hot like an oven. Miles could already feel the perspiration breaking out over his face as he put a hand up to shield his eyes. The arena seemed to go on and on for forever in either direction, and he could see for what seemed like miles all the way to the mountain range far beyond them. Not to mention the fact that there were rock formations closer — red rocks that water had pounded into shapes that probably would have been pretty if Miles hadn't been in a death game. They sorta looked threatening now, though. Like nooses or something, all curled in on themselves.

Okay, that was not a good thought to be having.

Miles took in several deep breaths that were supposed to be calming but ended up shuddering in his chest as he looked around. His district partner was right beside him looking as calm as ever, totally poised — nothing ever fazed her, did it? Opposite the big, glowing, blue Tesseract in the middle of the desert, Miles could see Kamala from the Rooftop Club, and he raised a hand to wave at her before he realized what he was doing and shook his head. He shouldn't bring any attention to himself.

The Eights were on the other side of Miles, so that was something, at least. He was close to his fellow spider, since they were arranged boy-girl-boy-girl. He waved Gwen's way a lot more subtly than he'd been about to wave at Kamala as the countdown boomed **15** in his ears and he realized, oh, hey, that was a lot quicker than he thought it had been.

He glanced one more time around the group of tributes, around the arena, as the final ten seconds ticked down, and he felt his feet already moving to the edge of his platform. "Just say one; just say one," he started to mutter under his breath. He was ready to _move_. He needed to be _gone_. This was not a place he should be. At all.

He was pointed entirely away from the Tesseract, his gaze on a backpack close by, and as soon as he heard the klaxon bell, that was it — he bolted.

Miles ran with everything he had, totally focused on getting the bag and getting _out,_ and he wasn't the only one who had that idea.

"AUGH!" Miles shouted when he saw someone in the corner of his vision coming closer than he was comfortable with, and he had just turned with both fists raised when he saw that it was Gwen, with a bag already slung over her shoulder. She shooed him ahead of her with a muttered "go, go, go, go, go," as already, the first cannon had sounded — though Miles was too petrified to look back and see who it was for. He didn't need any further prompting before he picked up the bag — it felt way too light, but he wasn't exactly picky about supplies right now because he didn't want to _die_ — and the two spiders ran as fast as they could toward the relative safety of the rocks and mountains, the only hiding spots available in the whole arena.

* * *

If anyone thought that those kids in Ten needed any weapons to get their first murder under their belt, they were dead wrong. Arkady Gregorovitch barely even looked further than a few steps ahead of his platform when he grabbed a hold of Monet and simply broke her neck bare-handed. She had barely even gotten off the platform. And Arkady hardly paused at all before he barrelled right for the Tesseract looking for a weapon — already looking for his next kill.

He wasn't the only one to go for the Tesseract, though even the Careers gave the Tens a wide berth, clearly not wanting to engage the two psychopaths and instead content to let the tributes from Ten pick their weapons and then run off to go kill tributes, thin the herd — so the Careers wouldn't have to.

Most of the other tributes had the same idea, skirting away from the Tens, though that just prompted a small race when both tributes from Ten took off after anyone foolish enough to get within their line of sight — and the more skittish tributes _scattered_.

It was a good thing the younger tributes that year were so fast, and while both of the spiders at the outskirts of the fight squeaked out screams of terror when they saw Arkady look their way — they outpaced the older Tens and managed to get away, though neither of them stopped running for a good long time, just for good measure.

* * *

Not everyone was so lucky, though.

Jessica Jones was sure it was just the icing on top of the horrible cake of everything else that had happened that she'd been stationed next to District One's tribute when the platforms came up.

She knew her best chance was to run; she wasn't going to delude herself into thinking that she was strong enough or fast enough to make it into the closer Tesseract supplies — and the way Kilgrave was eyeing her just cemented it for her that this was a _bad_ place to be.

As soon as the bell rang, she took off at a run, but one second, she was watching Bucky knock over the guy from Three on the way to a heavy broadsword, and the next, something had hit her, and she went down in a tumble.

It took a moment for her body to register that she was in pain, but when it came flooding in, all white hot and burning, she realized that there was a dagger in her back, and as she tried to push herself to her feet, she only got another few steps before she realized that simply wasn't going to cut it. Drawing breath hurt.

She felt something hit her back, and she went sprawling once more, her eyes closed against the pain of a second dagger in the back as she heard the guy from One shout out a "nice shot," moments before she felt a hand close around her ankle.

She might be down, but she wasn't out, and she kicked at the hand with everything she had, satisfied when she heard a cry of surprise and pain, and Kilgrave drew back.

"Ha," she muttered to herself, triumphantly, before Kilgrave came back and grabbed her by both feet, dragging her backwards along the ground.

She scrambled, her hands dragging along the dirt and rocks and trying to find purchase. It was sandy and hot and dry, and there was just _nothing_ to slow her travel, and when Kilgrave finally stopped pulling her, she tried to turn over and only succeeded in pushing one of the daggers deeper in her own back when she did so — but at least she could see him. She wasn't going to die not being able to see him.

"Come on, Jessica," Kilgrave sneered at her. "Why don't you show us what you can do?" Over his shoulder, Nefaria was cackling with glee, tossing a knife over and over in her hand. Jessica quickly realized that _she_ had been the one to hit her. Not Kilgrave.

"Always getting someone else to do your dirty work, huh?" she spit out Kilgrave's way, and his eyes flashed with anger for a moment before he snatched one of the knives from the collection Nefaria had already somehow managed to accumulate and simply drove it into her side.

Jessica shouted when the dagger hit, but it didn't kill her immediately. Instead, she suddenly felt like she was growing weaker and weaker as the blood started to pool around her, until she was too tired to push off the hand that Kilgrave laid on her cheek as he crowed to her about something or other — she didn't care to spend the energy to find out what he was on about.

It didn't take her long to bleed out, and that was a relief, as it meant she didn't have to listen to him bragging to the other Careers about having the first kill of the group — or listen to the other comments about how pretty his kill was, either.

* * *

Apart from Nefaria and Kilgrave, another Career was looking to post a kill on the scoreboard before the initial bloodbath was out, and Amora had set her sights on the little girl from Six.

Kamala had already talked with Scott and Clara the night before, and she knew what the plan was. The plan was for her to run, and then the other two would meet up with her after she found a good spot to hide. Clara had assured her that they could find her and that she didn't have to worry about it — they'd get weapons and supplies.

It was a very good plan, and Kamala was in full support of this plan. It was just that her _brain_ was in full support of the plan, while her _body_ had decided to just … stay ... put.

It was just like the Reapings all over again; she was too scared to move when the klaxon bell rang out to signal the end of the countdown, and she only got moving again when she saw that the blonde from Four had a sword — and that her district partner had a _mace_ , of all things — and that both of them were looking her way. She took off running at last, but she ran almost right into the big wall of muscle that was Skurge. He all but batted Kamala back toward Amora, who smiled down at Kamala when she skidded to a stop.

But thankfully, the Sevens had been close by when the bell rang, and when Clara saw Amora making a move on Kamala, she let out a frustrated sort of growl. She thought the plan was that the little girl from Six would _run._ But with Amora right on her, it was about all the little girl could do to simply avoid getting hit — even if it was obvious Amora was toying with her.

Clara didn't even really look at what she was grabbing as she picked up a pair of staves on her way to Kamala's defense, and when Amora's sword came swinging down, Clara managed to block her with the staves and drove forward as she barked for Kamala to run.

Kamala didn't get the chance to act on it, though, as the decision was made for her, and Scott arrived to simply pick her up and throw her over his shoulder, a couple backpacks in the other hand as he handed Kamala a sheathed knife. "Anyone tries to follow us, don't miss," he told her before he took off running with her, intent on getting Kamala out of danger while Clara dealt with Amora.

The sword came down on Clara, and she bared her teeth as she deflected the blow with one hand and brought the other around to crack Amora in the arm with the other stave. The sword went clattering to the ground, and the blonde Career backed up a few steps — in clear shock that Clara had disarmed her so quickly.

Panting, Clara shoved one of the staves into her back pocket before she picked up the short sword that Amora had dropped and headed toward her, ready to slash and end the little witch.

Before Clara could put an end to Amora, the Four girl's giant district partner bashed into her, sending the little blonde sprawling. The sword was knocked loose from her hands, and before she could get to her feet, Skurge had picked her up from behind, his arms crushing the breath out of her as he pulled her back closer to Amora.

Clara squirmed and struggled as Skurge laughed over her shoulder, but that just seemed to tick the little Creed off more. She quickly shifted her thoughts from fighting to breaking free — and causing whatever damage she could to him — as Amora gathered up her sword.

When Clara saw that Amora had her weapon back, she realized how short of a time she had to work with — and with her teeth clenched together, she threw her head back and cracked Skurge in the face, stunning him enough that he loosened his grip so she could shift a bit in his grasp. When her hand went part way behind her, she just grabbed everything she could, squeezed _hard,_ and twisted until Skurge had let go of her with a cry of pure pain.

But Clara didn't let go of him — not until she'd pulled the stave out of her back pocket and backhanded him with it across his temple. The crack that echoed the desert sands was one that rang with finality, and she'd barely drawn back for another hit when the canon for Skurge went off — and the little Creed turned back to Amora with Skurge's blood splattered across her pale features.

As Clara got to her feet, Amora got to her senses and turned tail. She knew that if Skurge hadn't been able to stand up to Clara, she didn't have a chance. Her best bet was to find the rest of her Career pack — and hope that they wouldn't turn on her with her muscle gone.

When the Four girl took off, Clara looked around her to pick up the other stave and grabbed a pack on the way out, a bit further out of breath than she had intended to be as she headed in the direction she'd thought Scott and Kamala had gone.

* * *

In the meantime, on the other side of the Tesseract, Brock Rumlow had cornered Alex Summers, and the lanky young man was trying desperately to simply avoid him as the much broader boy stalked toward him and cut off his avenues of escape.

Alex tried to grab a weapon at the Tesseract — which he was starting to realize was his first mistake — but before he could close his hand around the sword he had been eyeing, this creep had bashed into him _hard_ in the side with a mace. And now? Now, Brock was simply playing with him — taking pot shots when he could as Alex scrambled back on his hands and knees and then harder pot shots when Alex managed to get to his feet. The Six boy was trying to break him down little by little instead of just getting it over with — and there was nothing Alex could do about it.

Brock swung the mace at Alex's head, and the younger Summers managed to dodge it — but he didn't even consider the leg sweep that followed. Just like that, Alex found himself flat on his back with Brock Rumlow looming over him with a sickening smirk on his face.

"Tough luck, kid," Brock sneered, drawing back the mace.

Alex was gasping for air as he braced himself for the hit, unable to call out for help or do much of anything, really — when a ferocious-sounding shout echoed over him. He was suddenly very aware of the person standing over him — very, very closely over him, in fact. With one foot outside either of his hips, Kitty took a defensive stance — a sword in hand very much like the one Kurt had wielded the year before.

When Brock took a swing at Kitty, she ducked and lunged forward, sending the sharp tip of the sword into Rumlow's shoulder and forcing him into dropping the mace. She didn't look ready to stop, either. She darted forward again and kicked the mace away from him then drew back to strike again when Alex finally got his wind back and called out for her to get the heck _out_ of there.

Kitty paused only long enough to glance over her shoulder to see that Alex was _really_ hurting — pale and bleeding and incredibly vulnerable while she had her attention on the creep in front of her. With a sigh, she abandoned what would have been the end of Brock to instead run back to half drag the younger Summers to his feet, slipping her arm under his shoulders as she kept her sword out, practically daring anyone to get in between her and getting her district partner to safety.

* * *

As for America, the young woman from Twelve had _drilled_ it into her district partner's head that _she_ would go to the Tesseract for supplies. His only job was to keep back and make sure that he kept an eye on her so that he could flag her down once she had what she needed. She was hoping to get at least a backpack or two as well as something useful, like a knife or rope. If she was feeling particularly good, she'd also like something to add a little oomph to her hits, like staves, but she would just have to see what she could find.

America had just found a particularly heavy backpack — which she hoped meant it was filled with something she could _work_ with — when she saw a movement to her left and looked up just in time to see that rather than listening to a word she'd said, Billy had gone _with_ her to the Tesseract to try and help.

It wasn't like she could exactly fault him, either, because he had somehow managed to get his hands on a set of brass knuckles that looked like America could have some fun with, but he wasn't _paying attention_ , and he had drifted far too close to the Twos.

Billy cried out in surprise when he realized how close he was to Brian, who was pulling a long sword out of the Tesseract. It didn't look like Brian had even zeroed in on Billy; they were simply too close to each other, and when Billy shouted his surprise all over the place, it had caught the older boy's attention.

As America rushed over to help, she almost had to pause midway and grin with pride, though — because to Billy's credit, as soon as he saw that Brian was that close, he'd lashed out for one of the pressure points that Logan had shown him in training. All that time on the rooftop _had_ paid off after all, and it was enough that Billy had pinched the nerves on Brian's arm to get him to drop the sword so that America had _plenty_ of room to work with when she got there.

She tackled Brian to the ground, pausing only to catch the brass knuckles Billy tossed her before she hissed out at him to get _out_ of there — and this time, he actually listened. Though whether he was running from the carnage as the first cannons were echoing and America was just _laying_ into Brian or if he was actually listening to her, it wasn't entirely clear.

Billy didn't get too far, though, before he ran almost right into the other tribute from Two, and it was lucky for him that the purple-haired girl was more intent on getting to her brother than on killing any smaller tributes.

"Run!" she shouted at Billy, before she headed toward America with her sword drawn.

He blinked at her in surprise, totally not expecting that from a Career, but he wasn't stupid enough to ignore _two_ people yelling at him to run, so he kept going, glancing constantly over his shoulder to see if America would listen to her own advice and get out of there as the Tesseract cleared of everyone but the Careers at this point.

"Get out of there!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, surprised when the force of his shout left him a little dizzy, though he realized belatedly that Brian had managed to get a shot in, and he was bleeding from the temple.

But America was intent on teaching the Career in her grasp a lesson. She absolutely would have kept going, but on hearing Billy's shout — and how desperate he sounded — she turned just in time to see the flash of a sword and ducked out of the way so that she only got a bit of a haircut instead of letting Betsy take her head off.

Betsy was ready to continue to press her attack, too — until Brian moved and sounded positively pained. She shifted her attention to Brian for a moment instead of America — realizing what Kitty had realized in another nearby fight, that she couldn't kill one tribute and save another. "You need to get the hell out of here before I find the time to run you through," she said America's way at last.

America narrowed her eyes for a moment before she readjusted the bag on her shoulders and nodded sharply. "Don't let me run into you again, Two," she warned — and then took off at a run to find Billy.

Betsy watched her go for a moment before she knelt down next to Brian to see how bad it was … and by the look of him, it was pretty awful. "I'll be right back. Don't die on me, big brother," she muttered quietly before she headed out to look for supplies.

It didn't take her long to find a rather big medical kit — and though she wasn't the best at patching people up, she wasn't going to leave it to anyone else as the rest of the Careers finished gathering their supplies and clearing out the Tesseract.

Brian's entire face looked as if it had been shattered, and his blue eyes were no longer visible from the swelling that had already started up. She just kept muttering to him to hang in there, though he really wasn't responsive — even when the stinging antiseptic hit an open cut, he didn't react. But as long as he was breathing, she was going to do what she could to make him comfortable, though she kept her sword close at hand — she didn't trust her so-called allies not to try to make a move while her attention was distracted..

By that time, it was just the Careers left at the Tesseract, and while most of them were looking over the weapons and supplies that they had at their disposal, Nefaria had seen the two of them and made her way over, a sneer curling her lips when she saw the state Brian was in. "Tough luck," she said dismissively as she sat down nearby, flipping her knife in one hand as she surveyed the damage. "You're wasting good supplies on him, you know."

"You're wasting good oxygen," Betsy countered. "Mind your own business."

Nefaria sneered again, still watching Brian with an expression somewhere between disinterest and boredom. "You can't move him."

"What difference does it make to you?" Betsy nearly shouted. "I'm not asking for your help."

"If you kill him now, it would be easier. I've seen long deaths, and you're going to mope about it for ages if he clings on," Nefaria said with a bored sort of wave.

"Just get away from us," Betsy hissed.

Nefaria tipped her head to the side before she simply let out a breath and shrugged, pulling herself to her feet — before she took one of her throwing knives in her hand and tossed it directly into the center of Brian's chest to finish the job America had started.

Betsy gasped, and without thinking about it, she picked up her sword in one hand and spun — only making contact with Nefaria's wrist but severing the tendons she needed to close her fingers. The girl from Three held her hand to her chest, clearly not expecting that swift of a retaliation from Betsy — or that ruthless.

"If he dies, so do you," Betsy said at a low whisper, holding her sword up as she glared at Nefaria.

"My way was faster," Nefaria tried to explain, still clutching her hand and obviously taken off-guard by the threat.

"Mine won't be," Betsy replied as she started to circle around her, unblinking.

Nefaria glanced around at the other Careers, but if she had expected any backup from them, she was sorely mistaken. If anything, some of them looked excited at the prospect of a showdown between the two girls, and Trevor was grinning outright and had his feet propped up to watch. Both Jean and Amora were simply settled in, wearing smirks that only grew the wider Nefaria's eyes got. Kilgrave even let out a little, low chuckle when the cannon sounded for Brian, as they all knew what it meant.

Betsy didn't hesitate to attack, driving forward with her blade flashing. As she spun past Nefaria, the girl found herself without the use of one leg — and the opposite arm. Betsy turned and threw an elbow back into Nefaria's face, then drew her sword as Nefaria stumbled backward — cutting a wide gash across her face as she fell.

Nefaria crashed to the ground, unable to stand, her chest heaving, and stared up at Betsy, taken aback both by the severity of her attack and how quickly it had come. "You can't…" she breathed out. "He was on his way out _anyway_. Go play with that frizzy-headed little whelp!"

"Again — trying to order people around," Betsy said with a scowl before she kicked out and hit Nefaria in the center of her chest. She looked up at the other Careers. "None of you care one bit about her, do you?"

"No, no — go on," Trevor said almost lazily, grinning wide. "This is a good show. And she totally had it coming, right?" There was just a trace of the manic personality he'd shown off to the Capitol as he laughed, but when he turned his gaze to the trembling Nefaria, it was with the kind of look he'd worn on the rooftop meeting of the Careers.

Betsy looked toward Kilgrave and Jean with a challenging glare. "And you? Mind you, I'm not asking permission."

"What use is she at this point anyway?" Kilgrave pointed out. "You've already injured her, and _I'm_ certainly not going to play nursemaid."

"Then I'm almost sorry that I'll be killing the only girl here you ever had any control over," Betsy said before she took one of Nefaria's knives and flipped it in her hand. She drove it down into Nefaria's chest with all of her strength and weight.

Nefaria was still clutching for a breath when Betsy stood, but she didn't wait around as she gathered her sword and her medical kit. "I'm leaving. If you follow me, you will die."

"So soon?" Trevor sounded almost disappointed.

She gave him a look of barely-veiled contempt. "I know why you want me here, and I'm not sticking around to have a knife in my heart from one of you."

"You know if we run into you again, we won't just let you leave," Amora said over the sound of the gasping Nefaria.

"I'm not worried," Betsy replied. "You don't have much anymore in the line of fighters. And what you have does not concern me. It might be wiser for you to try to avoid me."

"I truly am sorry for your loss," Amora said softly as she watched Betsy leave. "Know that if I see the Twelve girl, I will repay her for you if you have not already done so."

Betsy only glanced over her shoulder in acknowledgement but didn't wait any further before she headed for the rocks at a quick pace, leaving the Careers already down half their members as the cannon finally sounded for Nefaria.

* * *

 _Inside the Arena Transports_

* * *

The victors hadn't even reached the transports to go back to the Capitol when the first cannon rang out from this year's Games. All of them froze on hearing it and turned back toward the arena, though unlike the rest of the country — they had no way of knowing yet who it was. At least, not until they got to the transport and the feed started for them.

Hank leaned over to the newest victor with a kind smile as he explained, "They delay the footage in these transports by ten minutes so that we can see the Games from their inception — and know for ourselves what happened. It will be real-time by the time we land." He paused as he listened for a moment, and another cannon could be heard, muffled in the distance. "If we wish to satisfy our morbid curiosity and ease the fear of what we don't yet know — haste is in order," he said when the sound had died off.

"Right," Logan muttered Hank's way with a little frown. "You could just say 'move your ass.'"

"He could, but then we wouldn't need Hank subtitles," Quill said as he caught up to the two of them, looking a little green still from having seen his own tributes off.

"Please don't tell me that's my job this year too," Logan said to Quill, just trying to get that look off of his face.

Quill couldn't help but smirk the slightest bit. "It's every greenie's job."

"That's a lie, and you know it," Logan replied, and Hank had to look a bit downtrodden as he watched the two of them, simply to play along with their little game. "Some of 'em aren't smart enough to understand it."

"But that's the best part — watching them try to make up the translation," Quill countered.

"That'd be me then."

"Nah, give yourself some credit," Quill said, shaking his head. "You're not _nearly_ as dense as your predecessor in Seven. Or Schmidt… or Masters…"

"You got a pretty big list there," Logan said as the two of them climbed into the transport. "Why aren't you on it?"

"Oh, I am. I thought that went without saying," Quill shrugged easily as he paused to help Hank get Charles into the transport as well — and the older victor was watching both young men with a quiet sort of smirk at their antics.

Logan took a seat that at the time was pretty far-removed from the group at large, but that didn't last long at all when Creed dropped into the seat next to him, though neither spoke as the last of the victors and stylists boarded the transport, and, as the transport took off, a few screens flickered to life around them, showing the tail end of Fury's conversation with Tivan before the camera focused on the tributes and the 60-second countdown.

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence as the victors watched their tributes, though some were quiet for different reasons than others. Some of the younger victors, like Rhodey, still looked a little green over having to tell their kids about the final twist, while others, like Sarkissian, looked like they were hardly able to stand the anticipation of seeing at last the full extent of what their kids could do.

The stylists that had come were all lumped together and nervously watching as well, half holding their breaths as the Games started in earnest.

Sam was the most visibly nervous of the group, with a twelve- and thirteen-year-old as his tributes, and when Arkady snapped Monet's neck, he visibly wilted around his shoulders but didn't fully relax until Miles had made it out of the bloodbath, at least — running from both Tens. As soon as he'd seen that at least Miles was safe, Sam hung his head for a second. He was under no delusions that either of his tributes would win, considering their age, but he couldn't help but hope.

And Quill's earlier good mood had all but evaporated the moment One's boy got hold of his girl. The boy from Five had long ago gotten _out_ of the bloodbath, so the only thing Quill could do was simply watch, almost as pale as Jessica as she bled out and he realized that the second cannon they'd heard while they were still boarding the transport had been for her.

When Clara started to fight with the two tributes from Four — both of the Seven victors were almost cringing until she managed to twist the fight around on the boy — and Creed let out a little chuckle when she backhanded the boy with enough force to kill him outright with the staves.

"Who authorized those two to team up with that girl?" Schmidt demanded suddenly, looking completely furious as the cameras showed Clara taking off to catch up with Scott — who still had Kamala slung over his shoulder and was clearly intent on carrying her all the way to the mountains if he had to.

It took a moment for the Seven victors to even acknowledge that he was standing up and glaring at both of them, but when Creed tapped Logan with the back of his hand, and the two of them looked over at Schmidt — and smirked — it was clear that whatever the arrangement was, if it ticked off Schmidt, even Creed was on board.

"What difference does it make?" Victor asked. "Not like you had any effort in 'er."

Schmidt looked even more furious when he realized Creed was fine with the alliance, though it was Sarkissian who laughed out a little, "That's hard to believe from you, Creed. A little girl like that with _your_ girl?"

"Didn't say I put any effort in her either — but why not?"

"She'll slow them both down," Schmidt all but snarled.

"No she won't," Logan argued. "So why don't you just keep your big nose in your own business."

"My tribute _is_ my business."

"You didn't do a damn thing but try to scare that girl senseless," Logan shot back. "So just back off before you get hurt." To make it more interesting, Creed was glaring Schmidt's way right along with Logan — and none of the occupants of the plane quite knew how to react to that particular united front.

"Hey, Schmidt," Sam called to get the man's attention away from the Sevens. "Isn't that _your_ tribute that Nine's girl's wiping all over the floor?"

Schmidt turned and followed Sam's gaze to the screen, and his lip curled into a sneer of disbelief when he saw that Kitty was, in fact, well on her way to killing Brock Rumlow, if it hadn't been for the fact that her district partner was so badly injured. Though it was hard to tell if Schmidt was pleased that Brock had survived or not, considering it had been luck and not skill that let him live another day.

Logan was just nodding to himself with a little smirk on seeing Kitty's progress. If nothing else, the kids that had spent time on the rooftop had gained some confidence. Or he hoped they had. The proof of that was just highlighted as the cameras moved on to the emerging fight between the Twelve boy and the boy from Two. It was short and sweet — and interrupted by America — but even before his district partner had arrived to help, Logan saw that Billy was making use of what he'd learned, going right for pressure points to disarm Brian before America arrived.

"Where did a kid from Twelve learn something like _that_?" Viper asked Black Bolt, though when the response was just a bewildered shrug, her gaze swept the transport, accusation in her expression almost as sharp as the sound of brass on bone from the screen.

"Probably the same place his partner learned how to make a guy hurt," Johnny noted with an obvious wince over the sound of Brian's cheekbone shattering.

"I'm pretty sure she showed up like that," Quill said. "Kid had a record of throw downs when she got here."

"Of course. I should have known. Delinquents," Viper breathed out.

In their little corner across the way, Creed leaned forward to mutter something quietly to Logan, who just nodded in response. Victor let out a little breath and leaned back with a smirk. "I think your kid's screwed, Viper."

"He's Bobbi's anyway," Viper said with a dismissive wave, and Bobbi just sighed and nodded. "I got the more competent sibling."

"Startin' to wonder if Ten makes the crazies or if ol' Charlie stacks 'em that way," Creed muttered with a grin, just trying to stir up trouble now that there was a little tension in the transport — even if the Capitol feed was on the Careers as Betsy tried to save her brother. "Wind 'em up and set 'em loose…"

"I'm afraid they come to us naturally that way," Hank said,shaking his head.

"Yeah? Here I was convinced that you were givin' em the beastie treatment before they hit the transport. Put all that psycho mumbo jumbo to use. Make 'em crazy."

"You see Ten get the first kill? Not Charles' style anyway," Quill muttered, waving a hand at Creed almost haphazardly as the cameras followed the dissolution of the Careers — and the victors followed the steadily growing smile on Viper's face on seeing that her tribute could be cruel when she wanted to be.

"That Two girl ain't followin' Viper's lead," Creed said with a shake of his head. "Too much heart."

"Won't be a problem when she returns," Viper said, unconcerned. "Bobbi was the same way, weren't you, darling?" she added toward her fellow Two victor, who matched her unconcerned look with a little nod and a shrug.

" _If_ she gets out," Creed argued. "She's gotta get past my sister."

"The one with two dead weights?" Viper replied.

"Neither one of 'em are dead weights," Logan said. "They'll make it further than yours."

"Everyone's overconfident their first year," Bobbi said, stepping in when Viper's eyes flashed.

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong," Logan replied, and the unified smug look from the two Sevens was just too much for Bobbi to watch — so she turned her attention to placating her partner's ego.

* * *

 ****Note: In the original story on FFN that we were part of, "In the End, You Always Kneel," each Games chapter had a running tally of deaths at the bottom. We found it incredibly helpful as readers to be able to keep track of who was still in the game and who to look out for, so we're doing that again here, putting the names in death order, with 24 being the first death and obviously, the number 1 spot going to our victor. We probably won't have this at the bottom of every chapter, just the ones with significant Games events (including deaths). Chapters focusing on the behind the scenes, obviously, don't need it. :)**

 **24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch**

 **23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave**

 **22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed**

 **21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria**

 **20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock**


	19. A Test of Alliances

**Chapter 19: "A Test of Alliances"**

* * *

 _July 7_

 _Day One of the Games_

* * *

Walking was challenging for Alex.

The kid from Six had dealt him some serious damage, and he was having a hard time breathing when everything _hurt_ , but he was doing his best to keep up with Kitty as she got them both away from the Tesseract and toward the safety of the rocks and arches. He was much taller than her, even at thirteen, so it wasn't like she could just carry him, either. Not well, anyway. So, he just kept going, putting one foot in front of the other and trying to _breathe_ and lean on Kitty and … and … all at once, he couldn't anymore.

He must have passed out at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was lying down, and they were much further into the rocks an arches than he remembered them being.

"Just rest," Kitty advised when she heard him starting to stir and put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising. "I've got this."

He frowned and looked around, though if he tried to move too much, that was just… not good. He leaned his head back against the rocks and tried to take in a breath, but it wasn't very deep, and that just had him frowning that much harder. Why did _breathing_ hurt?

Kitty bit her lip when she saw the way Alex was cringing. "I don't know how much damage he did, but … I'm going to stick with you," she swore.

He shook his head lightly from side to side before he tried to peer around her. "Just us?" he asked in more of a wheeze than anything, and it _hurt._

"Yes. And don't try to talk too much," she said with a frown. "I have some medicine I picked up — but I'm not sure what it'll do for you."

He matched her frown and watched her dig through the small pack. "Water?" he asked, careful not to try to talk too loud as he realized for the first time how thirsty he was. He wasn't sure that was a good thing, since they hadn't exactly been out for very long, but he definitely could feel a split lip from how dry he already was.

"A little bit — be careful with it," she said as she tried to help him sit up enough to drink, using the rocks to prop him up a bit. "I'll find some more as soon as I'm sure you're not going to do something stupid like die on me."

He gave her half a smile. "Why would I do that?" he croaked out in an attempt at humor.

"Because you are contrary and spiteful — and I can see you waiting until I turn my back," Kitty said with a frown. "So just don't. You're not allowed to leave me alone here, Alex Summers."

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh my god. Do not 'ma'am' me. That is so wrong."

He just smiled a bit crookedly. "So bossy though," he teased tiredly.

"Shut up or I'll bust you out on national television on who your big crush is," she teased. "I know things, Alex."

He gave her a _look_ for just a moment before he shook his head and leaned back. "Too tired to argue," he muttered, and it was true, because he could feel his eyelids drooping.

"That's good for you," she said with a smile. "Go ahead and rest. I'll keep watch for you."

"Thanks," he muttered, letting his head fall. He was asleep before he had even really finished saying his thank you.

Kitty looked outright worried as soon as she saw that Alex had fallen asleep that quickly. She knew that Six had gotten some nasty hits on him … but the truth was, she was half afraid to look at the damage. The last thing she wanted to do was fall apart on him if he was dying. She didn't want him to be scared. He was _thirteen_ , after all.

So instead, she just … tried to make him comfortable, knowing full well that if he was that badly injured internally, there wasn't a thing she'd be able to do for him in the arena.

* * *

"Billy Kaplan, you are an idiot," America told her district partner.

The two of them had found a good spot in the rock face, a little hidden cave that Billy had been able to spot, almost like he'd wished it into existence when they had been out in the sun for the past couple of hours. And the heat and total lack of water was doing absolutely nothing for either of their moods.

"Takes one to know one," he shot back with a grumble.

She rolled her eyes at him as she started to unpack the heavy bag, though she didn't know what much of it was _for_. She'd been hoping for ropes, knives, something _useful_ , but instead, she just found a small sheet and a tube, along with a water bottle. The climbing kit, she supposed, could be helpful too, but all she saw at this point was a whole lot of heavy crap that she'd been carrying for hours, and none of it was going to help her kill the kids between her and putting Billy back in Twelve.

Billy rubbed absently at the dried blood on his forehead as he watched America glare at their supplies before he slowly started to nod. "I know what this is," he said. "I read about them."

America glanced up at him in surprise before she shoved the bag's contents his way. "Then go right ahead, bookworm. This is your department. I'm going to go see if I can find a good lookout spot so we don't get killed in our sleep by what's left of the Careers."

"You think they'll come after us?" Billy asked with a small frown, but America was already climbing out of their hidey hole to play lookout.

Billy shook his head at his friend. He knew that her heart was in the right place and she was just looking out for him, but she was being paranoid and overbearing, and he could do a lot more than she seemed to think he could.

Like get water, for example.

That's what the supplies in the bag were for. He recognized it — he just had to set it up outside where they would have the best chance of getting water. When night fell and the air started to cool, the condensation would gather on the sheet, and it would drip into the tube. All he had to do was set it up on the ground, attach the water bottle to the system, and then wait. And in the morning — voila — they would have water, like magic.

Billy busied himself with getting everything set up, already looking forward to how good that water would taste. He was used to the humid mountains back home in Twelve, and this desert air was already stealing not only his sweat but his energy. Being this hot all the time was _tiring_ , and they'd only been in the arena for a few hours.

They had to make it through several days in this place, and the prospect was, Billy had to admit, incredibly daunting.

When America got back, she had cut her khaki pants down to shorts to deal with the heat, and he could see the strings where she'd torn the line, though he declined the offer of the same treatment for his own clothes, instead opting to show her the system he'd set up to collect water overnight.

"Maybe it'd be better if we slept through the hottest part of the day, you know — come out in the evening and night?" he offered as he watched her methodically tearing her pants into strips.

"You planning on becoming a creature of the night?" she teased before she tossed him one of the strips. "Tie that around your head. This place looks ripe for sandstorms, and the last thing you need is more dirt getting in that head of yours." She had to smirk at him as she said it, and he stuck his tongue out at her.

"I'm just saying — the sun is totally draining. And we don't want to meet up with anyone when we're tired out just from _walking around_ ," Billy pointed out.

America tipped her head to the side to consider him for a moment before she nodded. "Alright. We'll start doing that tomorrow. Unless you feel like taking a nap right now?" She asked it in a teasing tone, but he could tell that she was also checking to make sure he wasn't hurting any worse from his head injury.

He shook his head, sighed and shrugged. "I think I'm still a little keyed up from that fight," he admitted.

"Yeah, me too," she said, nodding her agreement before she leveled a finger his way. "You just about gave me a heart attack, you idiot."

"Was that before or after the purple-haired girl told me to run?"

At that, America paused and turned his way. "She what?"

"She … told me to run. Get away from the mess." He shrugged a bit as he double checked his work.

"She must not have seen you totally take down her brother before I got there," America said, and there was no mistaking the proud tone in her voice for a moment as she smiled Billy's way before she nodded to herself. "What'd she do that for, anyway? She's a Career. You're lucky she didn't take your head off."

"I don't think she's like the other Careers," he said. "She and her brother were mostly just watching out for each other — from the sound of things."

"If that's the case, then I'm almost sorry I did her brother in," America muttered. "Only he was fighting you, so I'm not actually sorry."

"You must have heat exhaustion. Did you actually say the word 'sorry'?"

"Twice. I know — I'm probably delusional," America said with just the slightest of smirks.

"You're going to get yourself killed," he pointed out.

"That's the plan," she said with an easy shrug. "Right before I get you home."

"Plans never work in here, America," he said in an almost tired tone. "You know that."

"Says the bookworm with plans for everything, including how to get water and when to travel," America countered, sounding completely unconcerned — though Billy couldn't help but wonder if she was thinking the same thing he was, that their friend Kate had made it all the way to the Final Four on plans that she never got to realize.

He let out a breath and decided to ignore it, instead pointing out to America, "These are keeping alive plans, not 'big picture' plans."

"In here? 'Keeping alive' _is_ a big picture plan," she pointed out before she crossed over in a few strides to readjust the way he'd tied the fabric around his head. "Why are you arguing with me on this? I thought you'd be happy about going back to Teddy, you dolt."

"I just don't want you to do anything stupid," he said, wincing when she tied the knot and then knocked him in the back of the head for arguing with her.

"Worry about your own stupid decisions, like running into the _Tesseract_ , you moron," America shot back as she gathered up the climbing kit to put it back in the bag, since neither of them were going to use it anytime soon.

"Yeah, remind me again where you got the shiny brass knuckles from," he countered.

She glared at him and rolled her eyes before she started to roll up a long strip of fabric to use it to tie her hair back. "You just stay here and take a nap. I'm going to see if I can track down anything edible in this wasteland," she informed him, completely ignoring the brass knuckles jab even as she readjusted them with one hand on her way out of the cave.

Billy shook his head as he found himself alone once more. "Sure, America. _I'm_ the idiot," he told the now-empty rocks and sand.

* * *

Scott, Kamala, and Clara had eventually found a cliff face with an overhang that provided shade, shelter, and enough of a hiding place that they could consider it a decent spot to set up camp — though it was obvious the arena itself was designed to keep the tributes more out in the open than the previous year, so they would almost _have_ to fight each other. There wouldn't be many places to hide, which meant the tributes wouldn't need to look too hard to find each other. So, the first thing the little group did when they set up was establish a watch so that none of the others could sneak up on them.

While Clara was finding a good vantage point, then, Kamala and Scott went through the two bags he'd grabbed from the Tesseract, and they were both pleasantly surprised when they realized that they actually had some useful stuff in there.

There was plenty of rope, which tickled Kamala, since she'd spent lots of time at the ropes and traps station with Miles, so she actually felt like she could contribute to the alliance. And in addition to the knife Scott had given her to hold at the Tesseract, there were a couple shiny daggers in one bag, along with a half-full water bottle, a cooking set, and six protein bars.

"We're still a little short on weapons," Scott said almost to himself, knowing the one knife for Kamala wasn't going to be enough — and wishing he had a set of throwing knives, since that was what he'd practiced with. "And this water isn't going to last us long either."

"We can find more water," Kamala said with a little wave. "And I can make traps!"

"I don't see anything here that will help us get more water," Scott said with a frown as he finished checking every single pocket and crevice in the pack, in case anything was hidden in there.

"Did you check Clara's?" Kamala asked.

"Not yet," Scott admitted, already reaching for the pack, and the frown turned into a bit of a smile when he opened Clara's pack and found that there were plenty of medical supplies in there. Bandages, antiseptic, even a small tube of burn cream. "Well, that's good."

Kamala leaned over his shoulder and let out a little low whistle, breaking into a grin. "And we don't even really need it," she said, before she glanced around the area. "Dangit. No trees. I need to knock on wood or _something_ after that."

Scott couldn't help but smirk at that as he put the supplies back in the packs, though he left the rope out so that Kamala could start working with it. She was already determined to make traps or snares so that she could be "part of the team."

"You're already part of the team," Scott pointed out as he watched her determinedly tying knots.

"Not like you guys," Kamala argued, the slightest of frowns tugging at her expression. "I don't think I could kill anyone, not really," she added quietly.

Scott had just opened his mouth to tell her that he'd make sure she didn't _have_ to — but he didn't get the chance when instead, he was distracted by Clara's entrance.

"How did we do, guys?" Clara asked as she slid down the path a bit.

Kamala grinned at Clara, waved, and gestured at the bags. "Pretty darn well, no matter what Scott says. We have cooking stuff, rope, some water, some food, and plenty of medical supplies. We're _set_."

"Not much in the way of weapons, though," Scott told Clara. "Two daggers and a knife."

"Well, I have staves," Clara pointed out. "Kinda short, but better than nothing."

"There's not much out here that we can use to make more," Scott said. "So this is what we've got — unless we want to start hurling rocks."

"Something will turn up," she said with a little wave. "Don't stress over it."

"I'm actually not too stressed," Scott assured her with a small smirk. "I know we did better than a lot of other kids could hope to. Grabbed the right bags, I guess." He directed the smirk Kamala's way, and she broke into a huge grin at the encouragement.

"And we have one less Career to worry about too," Clara pointed out. "And I don't think they'll be outright looking for us after that."

"You killed Amora, then?" Kamala asked in a quiet voice, her eyes wide.

"No," Clara said with a little shake of her head. "But I did kill her ugly boyfriend. So they don't have the big guy backing them up."

"That's most of their muscle," Scott said, starting to smile Clara's way at the news.

"Then he shouldn't have been stupid enough to tangle with the girl that routinely wrestles with her big brothers, huh?"

"Guess not," Scott had to agree, and Kamala just stared at Clara for a long moment.

"Thanks for rescuing me, by the way," the younger girl squeaked out at last, very quietly.

"Hey. We're in this together, right? That's how it works," Clara said with a little crooked smile.

Kamala returned the smile almost shyly as she nodded, then took a deep breath. "So… are we going to try to find the others? Like Scott's brother or Miles or... ?"

At that, the encouraging sort of smirk Scott had been giving Kamala died entirely, and he let out a breath. "I don't know which way Alex went," he admitted quietly.

Kamala quickly reached over and covered Scott's arm with her hand. "That's alright," she promised. "We'll find him no problem. He's probably looking for you."

"He has a lousy sense of direction," Scott told her with a minute smirk."That's how he ended up in Nine, after all."

"Then I guess we'd better find him before he wanders the totally wrong way," Kamala decided.

"Let the dust settle from the bloodbath," Clara said as she slid into a seated position. "Move when the temperature drops."

"We'll wait and see whose faces are in the sky before we head out," Scott suggested. "Better to know who we might run into — and better if we're not looking for … well…." He trailed off before he cleared his throat. "It's just better if we know."

"Sounds like a plan, oh, fearless leader," Clara teased.

He raised both eyebrows her way. "What? Don't call me that," he said, shaking his head.

"Why not? That's what you are, isn't it?" she asked with a smile.

"If I was, you'd listen to me," he shot back with a smile to match. "So I don't think I am, somehow."

"Well in all fairness, you haven't asked me to do anything," she argued.

"Alright then," he said, seeming to take it as a challenge. "Clara, why don't you help Kamala with her traps, and I'll take a watch while we wait for nightfall?"

"That actually sounds like a fine plan," she said with a smirk. "If you follow the trail up to the left, you'll stay hidden."

"All six feet of me?" he had to ask with a teasing grin, gesturing with one hand.

"I think so," she replied.

"I guess I'll just have to go find out," he said as he started up the left side of the cliff.

Kamala watched him go for a moment before she smirked at Clara. "I can leave if you want me to," she teased. "I could be, I don't know, trying out my traps or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," Clara said. "We're a team. We work as a team. If you want to set some traps, I'll go with and watch your back."

"You're totally missing the point here," Kamala laughed.

"Is there a point to miss?" Clara said with a distinctly Scott-like expression on her face.

That, of course, just had Kamala laughing that much harder. "I don't even know. It's hard to tell. But it's funny either way," she admitted.

"Okay, so what were you getting at?" Clara said with a laugh.

"I'm just saying if _I_ was talking to a boy like that — well, except maybe Bruno, but he doesn't count — then Aamir would be having fits about my _honor_ ," Kamala laughed, shaking her head. "And I'm only _thirteen_."

Clara blinked at Kamala for a moment before she made a dismissive sort of motion. "Well, that's not even an issue, since he is so not even thinking that way," she replied.

"Well, _I_ think he's cute," Kamala said decisively.

"Are you trying to set me up, matchmaker?"

"Uh, no. Not in the Games. I'm just making observations here," Kamala said quickly, holding both hands up.

"Did you want me to set you up?" she teased. "Seeing as he's cute and all."

"No," Kamala said, shaking her head harder. "I'm just… pointing out the obvious."

"Uh-huh." Clara shook her head at the younger girl, hardly able to believe that they were only _hours_ into the Games and she was already on that subject. "Besides, even if we weren't in the Games, it would be a dead subject."

"Because your brother would kill any boy you ever dated?" Kamala asked, then bit her lip, seeming to realize that it might be a touchy subject.

"You want to guess how many dates I've gone out on at all?" Clara replied with her hands on her hips.

"Probably as many as me, which is none, but my brother is just overprotective, not… Victor Creed."

"My brother … is a pain. And he has a terrible sweet tooth that no one knows about." She smiled Kamala's way. "Even monsters have weaknesses."

"That's how it is in the books too," Kamala said, her eyes lighting up with a smile. "Like a chink in a dragon's armor, or Achilles' heel — that sort of thing." She grinned widely. "Glad to know it's not just fairy tales."

Clara couldn't help but smile at Kamala's intractable optimism. "Come on, let's let our fearless leader know what we're up to. We can be good girls — just setting death traps. No room for hanky panky anywhere."

"Are you going to call him that the whole time?" Kamala asked.

"I might. He doesn't like nicknames, I've been reliably told," Clara said.

"Then… I think I'll have to call him that too," Kamala decided with a troublemaking sparkle to her gaze before she handed Clara some of the rope she was working with to properly booby trap their little hideout.

* * *

Miles was getting tired, but he and Gwen were almost to the top of the rocky cliff, so he didn't say anything. Which was more than he could say for the last half hour or so of climbing with Gwen, but she had been exceedingly nice and hadn't complained about his complaining, and he was grateful for that.

Gwen cleared the top of the ridge first and then turned around to give Miles a hand up, pulling him over the top before both of them simply collapsed onto the sandy, dirty ground to catch their breath.

"Remind me," Miles panted out, "whose idea it was to go up higher than everybody."

"Yours," Gwen replied. "It was _your_ idea."

"Oh yeah." He dropped his head back in the dirt for a long moment and closed his eyes. "At least the sun's going down."

"We should have been climbing after sundown. I can already feel my skin peeling," Gwen said with a frown, and Miles sat up to see that she did, in fact, look pink all around the edges. "I don't usually burn this fast."

"Well, I think we're up higher," Miles pointed out. "And in a desert. And up in some mountains. Did I mention we're up higher? Because I don't usually run out of oxygen this fast either."

Gwen gave him a sidelong glance for a moment before she just had to laugh and shake her head at him. "You're so dramatic."

"No, really. There really is less oxygen up here. It's a scientific fact."

"Is that why you climbed so slow?" Gwen couldn't help but tease him, and he sat up a little straighter, his hand on his heart and his eyes wide.

"I am a _perfectly_ good climber, thank you very much. I'm a _Spider-man_."

"Who climbs like an elephant."

He shook his head. "You shouldn't say such hurtful things, Gwen Stacy. It's unbecoming to a spider of your station."

She rolled her eyes at him and laid back in the dirt. "Whatever, Miles. You're the one blaming oxygen deprivation for your problems."

He opened his mouth like he was going to keep arguing with her but then seemed to think better of it and down beside her in the dirt, staring up at the sky as it got slowly darker. "Well, the one nice thing about mountains is they hide the sun faster," he pointed out as, in fact, the sun hadn't quite hit the horizon, but the air was already starting to cool down. "Back home, sunset wouldn't be for another hour or so."

"But there would be more oxygen?" she teased.

"Uh, yeah. Obviously." He shook his head at her for a moment before he laughed. "And more trees and places to hide, more food… this place is just…"

"It's supposed to be," she pointed out. "If it was easy, that wouldn't be entertaining."

"Sure it would be. I can catch blueberries in my mouth. Who wouldn't want to see that?" Miles asked with a wide grin.

"24 hours a day?" she asked.

"7 days a week," he agreed, then paused. "Well, I'd want to take off the occasional Tuesday. And maybe on Wednesday I'd catch raspberries instead of blueberries, just to mix it up."

Gwen couldn't help but laugh at him for that one. "Sounds like you have it all planned out."

"Sure do. Too bad for the Capitol they picked a desert instead of a forest, because they could have had the best entertainment ever," Miles agreed fervently as he unzipped his bag to look through the contents and just started to _laugh_.

"What?" Gwen asked.

"You're not going to believe this," Miles said as he pulled out the dried food in the bag — or, more precisely, dried blueberries. Three bags of them.

"You're kidding me," Gwen said quietly, then quickly started to unzip her bag just to check and make sure there wasn't something equally ridiculous — but hers just had a small folded up tarp that they could use for shelter, she supposed, as well as an empty water bottle.

Miles just grinned crookedly at her before he tipped his head back and tossed a dried blueberry into his mouth.

"You are so ridiculous," she said with a little laugh. "You peeked. You had to have peeked."

"I swear I didn't," Miles said, holding up both hands. "The universe just loves me. That's the only explanation I can find."

She shook her head with a little laugh and leaned back. "You know, if it wasn't for the fact that we were … here? This would be a really pretty place to explore."

"With sunscreen for my overly pink spider friend — and a little more preparation — yeah," he had to admit, looking out over the valley full of naturally-shaped rock formations, which, he had to admit, looked sort of eerie now that the sun was hidden behind the mountains.

Gwen followed his gaze out to the valley. "I wonder how those rocks were formed. Erosion? Kind of wild pattern if that's the case."

Miles had to nod his agreement. "You don't think this place has sandstorms, do you? That many rounded edges…. Sandstorms would totally do that. Right?"

"Um … it might?" She said with her nose scrunched up. "There _is_ enough sand."

"I really, really hope that's not the case, because then when we're up to the top of the mountain… there's not much shelter?" He took a deep breath. "But… if I remember my geography, this isn't really a sandstorm area. But I don't know if that's true when the Gamemakers are messing with it, and I just…. Yeah, that's worrisome. Why are we still talking about this? Why am _I_ still talking about this?"

"You're overthinking things again. Would it help you if I hit you?" Gwen offered.

"Umm, it might, but don't do that, please," Miles muttered, scooting a little further away from her and looking outright relieved when the Marvel anthem began to play through the night air. "Oh, look! A thing to watch that's not me!"

"How will they survive without watching you and your blueberries?" Gwen teased.

"I don't know. It's gotta be a hardship," he laughed, though he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he had been before as he watched the sky. Gwen had tensed beside him as well, and both of them were completely silent.

The first face that was projected up in the sky was, of all things, Brian Braddock. And when Giuletta Nefaria and Skurge were the next up in the sky, both of the spiders were simply taken aback, stunned and unable to come up with anything to say.

If there were that many Careers down already, what about the rest of the kids?

The next face was Jessica Jones from Five, but Miles was downright shocked when the one after it was his district partner's… and then the sky went dark.

Three Careers and two little girls. That… that was not a normal bloodbath death count.

Gwen let out the breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding when she saw that her own district partner was safe, but then she glanced over at Miles, who was still staring up at the blank night sky. "I'm sorry about Monet," she offered quietly, but Miles just shook his head.

"I didn't… didn't really know her," he admitted in a soft whisper. "We talked a few times on the train and stuff, but, not _really_."

"I'm sorry anyway," Gwen said. "Didn't you say you went to the same school?"

"Yeah. She was ... actually, she was a few grades ahead of me. Skipped a few years. I think they were fast-tracking her to work in the Capitol once she aged out of Reaping," Miles said quietly. "She was really smart."

Gwen reached over and put a hand on Miles' arm. "Want to help me set up the tarp? It's not much, but maybe it'll keep out… giant bugs?" she offered.

"Oh, don't call down the wrath of giant bugs, Gwen. That's just asking for it," he said seriously, and she couldn't help laughing at him.

"Just help me get it set up."


	20. From Hacking the Whacking

**Chapter 20: "From Hacking to Whacking"**

* * *

 _July 7_

 _Tahiti Medical Wing_

* * *

This year, the byword for the Tahiti medical personnel was quantity.

Because it was the last year, Fury had pulled far more of his favorite picks for the pull of tributes rather than spreading them out across the years, which meant there was pressure to bring a much higher percentage of them back.

Not to mention the surprises that were the Braddocks, who Fury had quickly added to his list after seeing not only their ability to fight but the passion which with they fought for each other. Which was all well and good for the people ordering the resurrections, but for the doctors and technicians who actually had to pull off this miracle, it was another story entirely.

For one thing, that was two extra people that they would need supplies for, and it wasn't like America had been kind about what she did to Brian Braddock — neither had Kilgrave and Nefaria been kind to Jessica Jones. And for every harsh death, there was just that much more material being used.

So for the time being, they were simply putting the worse cases in stasis. For anything more complicated than a simple stabbing or broken neck, they were waiting for confirmation that the living Tahiti operatives had secured more vibranium before they even touched it. Otherwise, they would have to start making judgement calls based on how badly the kids were injured — and how badly Fury wanted them on the team.

Essex had returned from wherever Fury had been keeping him, though he was confined _only_ to the medical areas so that he could help with the Tahiti process itself, nothing more. But even with those stipulations, he had swept into the Tahiti medical wing as if he still ran the place — and to the chagrin of most of those working there, the problem was, he had been doing this for so long that they actually _needed_ him.

"This is going to be a messy cleanup," Simmons remarked to Claire Temple as the two of them looked over Brian Braddock, and Claire just nodded her quiet agreement before moving on to another Tahiti candidate from the bloodbath, Jessica Jones. Multiple stab wounds, but actually, she would be relatively straightforward, compared to most of the cases they were used to handling.

"This one's an easy fix, though," Cecilia said from where she was already prepping the youngest tribute from this year's Games. A simple broken neck wouldn't take too much of their resources, so they could go ahead and get started on her.

"When are the kids expected to get back with the rest of the supplies? I can't start making any plans until I know just how much we've got to budget for," Claire asked with a little frown.

"As I understand it, they should be back any time now," Hank said as he double-checked the equipment Claire was already prepping.

"Then let's get started on this one. We can put the others on hold for a few hours if we need to, but I'm not going to put everyone in cryogenesis while we wait if we can help it."

* * *

 _July 7_

 _District Eleven_

* * *

Actually, the Tahiti kids had left that morning for District Eleven, headed for the vibranium mines with Luke leading the way, since he had actually worked there before his Games.

Of course, most of the country wasn't paying any attention to the day-to-day things like security, not when the bloodbath was getting started right about the same time as the kids landed in Eleven, and the distraction was exactly what they needed. The plan was to get in, get out, and get back as fast as they could — with as much as they could without getting caught.

As for how not to get caught, well, Luke was sure he could point out where to collapse the tunnels so that the areas of the mines they were stealing from would be blocked off after they left anyway — they just had to make sure no civilians got caught in the blast or the cave-in.

Tony had built them something that would help them get out fast, too, a way to carry the ore they needed without getting too weighed down — and while Luke was leading the way in, Kate and Kurt were in charge of Tony's latest invention.

It was powered by what he called repulsor technology, something he had been working on since the Games. It was a year in the making and still in the prototype stages, but for something as simple as a cart? He felt confident that it would work just fine. All they had to do was put the repulsors on the bottom of the nearest mine cart, and it would hover. They could cover any ground that way, he assured them, so that they wouldn't be slowed down having to drag their ill-gotten goods.

But on the off chance that didn't work, they had four people on the team — including Wade, who was watching their backs, so they could always just leg it.

They got in easily enough — the first day of the Games meant the most distraction, not to mention Luke was sure the paths he was taking them down were the least used — and to both Kate and Kurt's surprise, the mine cart _did_ , in fact, hover off the ground once they got Tony's gadgets installed. So thus far, their first Games mission during the actual Games was going pretty well.

"Alright, so — now what?" Kate asked.

"Cart the cart, Kart," Wade whispered.

Kate and Kurt glanced at each other and then at Wade before Kate just started to laugh. "How long have you been sitting on that one?" she asked, even as Kurt whispered 'don't encourage him' in her ear.

"For. Ever," Wade replied with a grin visible even behind the mask. "Don't worry, little birdie, I've got your back."

"Of course you have," Kurt said dryly.

"Just follow my lead," Luke cut in before the conversation could get out of hand. "We still have to actually get the stuff, and you're going to want to be careful with it. It's unstable when it's raw." To illustrate his caution, he showed the other three the vein of vibranium and _very_ carefully removed some of it from the walls of the mine. He eyed the repulsors for a moment, but, for now, it seemed they were just fine to transport.

"I like the color," Kate whispered over Kurt's shoulder as they followed Luke's lead, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Of course you do."

She giggled and carefully placed the pink-purple ore in the mine cart as the four Tahiti kids moved quickly through the mine, gathering what they could until the cart was full. But — as Tony had promised — it was easy to push, and Kate and Kurt were both grateful for it when the mine sloped uphill and they didn't have to get an _actual_ mine cart up the gradient.

The fifth member of their group wasn't a Tahiti operative, technically, but was Skye — and she was handling the work with the rebels, so she wasn't even in the mines with them. Nobody got into the mines that wasn't cleared either by Sentinels or rebels, depending on which entrance they used, and Skye had been sent with a coded message from Coulson that, somehow, had opened the right doors for the group. But she stayed outside the mines with the rebel group, both for surveillance and because Coulson had a secondary mission for her in trying to shore up stronger support in Eleven for their cause.

So, Skye had been chatting with the rebels for about the last hour when, at last, the other four showed up with the full mine cart, and she grinned. "About time," she called their way.

"What, were you in a hurry or something? Got somewhere to be?" Kate called back.

"Hot date, right?" she teased right back. "Gotta get a move on!"

"We'll double when we get back," Kate laughed, though they'd hardly gotten out of the mine all the way, with Wade bringing up the rear, when they heard the unmistakable sound of rifles cocking and a Sentinel's voice telling everyone to "halt."

"Oh, crap!" Skye whispered just before the whole group simply started to run, with the rebels covering their retreat.

The sound of gunfire rang out over their heads, and Luke got a face full of rock when part of the rocky mine entrance blew to bits right beside him, the shot missing him by inches before he looked over his shoulder in time to tell the other three "down" a second before the shots rang out.

It was enough warning that no one was hit, except for one shot Wade took in the armor that he said he'd walk off no problem — but the cart had taken most of the hits intended for the kids, and it listed dangerous to one side before spilling over entirely.

"Aww, cart, no," Kate muttered under her breath.

"Kart! _The cart!_ " Wade said in a harsh whisper. "For shame! You have shirked your duties!"

"Yeah, I'm real sorry I didn't get shot," Kate said, rolling her eyes his way — even if he couldn't see it — as she and Kurt both rushed to salvage what they could of the spilled ore, though with shots ringing out over their heads and with the fact that it was already unstable from all the jostling ... it wasn't going fast enough. Clearly.

Luke got there in a rush and simply held up that half of the cart. "Get what you can — we can come back if we have to. Your lunatic friend can't hold them off forever." As if to illustrate Luke's point, they could hear Wade yelling a few choice words at some of the Sentinels he was fighting.

"He thinks he's bulletproof," Kate whispered to Luke as she tipped several handfuls of ore into the cart, and almost on cue, Wade started to cackle as a few shots from the Sentinels went wide, calling out something about 'Stormtroopers.'

But when the sheer rock face above their heads started to crack and dust and dirt rained down on them, Luke decided their escape route wasn't going to hold up any longer. "That's it — we're leaving _now_ ," he said, pushing Skye ahead of him first to get her toward the plane, since she had the least experience being shot at out of all of them.

"We don't have the full load," Skye objected, looking as if one piece left behind was a failure at the highest levels.

"We're not going to have _anything_ if this tunnel comes down on us," Luke explained, still pushing her ahead. "And I don't think you want to find out what the other side of Tahiti feels like — if they can even dig us out when it collapses."

"In other words — get _moving_ ," Kate chimed in, pushing the cart with her shoulder to get it through the tunnel as more dirt and debris rained down around them.

It was a near thing, too — the five of them had only just come out into the clearing where Ororo was waiting to pick them up when they heard the loud rumbling of a collapse further back in the tunnels.

Luke frowned as he glanced over his shoulder. "That's not going to be usable again. When we come back, we'll need another way," he opined as he and Wade helped the others lift the cart into the plane.

"What happened back there?" Ororo asked, her eyebrows scrunched in obvious concern as she took in their dirt-caked faces, as well as the few bullets Wade had decided to collect while covering their retreat.

"We got caught," Skye said with a sullen expression on her face.

"They tried to collapse the tunnel on us, but we got out," Luke assured Ororo as he slid up into copilot with her. "But we need to get out of here before they decide to follow us."

"Gently, please," Kurt called up as he and Kate finished securing the cart. "We've lost enough of this as it is."

"You didn't get it all?"

"We were being shot at," Kate said as if that was explanation enough — and it really was.

"Well, let's hope the brainiacs can work their magic with what we've got," Wade said.

"You guys did really well, actually," Skye said, trying to reassure them, even though she was disappointed at missing out on a full haul. "If the heat's too high, they have other teams they can send in. Ones that won't bring down all the world if you guys get hurt."

"You mean _we_ did well," Kurt corrected her. "You fit in well with our little group of misfits."

"I'll skip the usual welcome package, though, thanks," she teased lightly, and Wade nodded a few more times than was necessary at that, muttering about 'angering the hairy one.'

Thankfully, it looked like no one had noticed their takeoff, and they weren't being followed. So the rest of the flight was uneventful, almost relaxing even, since Eleven was one of the further districts from their base of operations. They had a long enough flight to come down from the adrenaline high of the fight, and of course, for Kate and Kurt to move on from the mission to flirting, snuggled up in their own little corner and just giggling to each other as they chatted, the masks removed now that they were in the air.

Not that anyone was surprised.

"So, _this_ is a far cry from your usual hacking classes, Miss Teacher Lady," Wade said as he leaned toward Skye. "Or did I miss the part where we went from hacking to whacking?"

"I've been training and learning, just like you guys have," Skye said with a little shrug. "I mean, when you're on Coulson's team, you don't stand still."

"Yeah, but … if it was common, we'd see Fitzsimmons out here right? Taking down bad guys at every turn, doing the field agent badass representation." Wade grinned, pulling a heroic pose. "I'd like to see that, actually."

"I think Simmons could do it," Skye admitted. "But that would mean leaving Fitz in the lab."

"My money's on Fitz," Wade said with a nod. "Give that guy a gun, and no one on the other side will be safe."

"No one on _our_ side would be safe either," Skye laughed.

"I'll bet he could single-handedly end the whole fiasco given the chance," Wade said.

"Well…" Skye paused and seemed to consider something. "I guess that depends on where Simmons is."

"See? That's the key. Put her on the other side of the field and just let him loose."

"You're a real romantic," she laughed. "Is that how you wooed Cassie?"

He let out a scandalized gasp and let his mouth drop open, one hand over his heart as he glanced between her and Luke. "I … have done no such thing! Sweet Cassielang cannot be _wooed._ "

"Uh-huh." Skye grinned that much wider when she saw that Luke was watching and listening in on their conversation now. "So you're not serious?"

Wade grinned and let out a long, drawn out, groaning sort of sigh. "A-anyways, enough about me ...What about _you_? What are you up to .. hot date and all?"

"That — that was just banter," Skye admitted.

"Shu-ure it was," he said with a heavy chuckle. "That's what they all say when they're hiding things. What's the story, mornin' glory?"

"The story?" Skye shrugged up both her shoulders. "The usual for a field agent, I guess. Work got in the way," she said sullenly.

"So it's someone on your team, huh?" he said as he bumped her shoulder. "Romance in the trenches. That's my kind of girl. Gunfire to set the mood ... Who is it? Is it Fitz? Simmons? Coulson? Who?" He gasped again and covered his mouth. "Is it May?"

"First of all, I am _not_ coming between Fitz and Simmons," Skye said, shaking her head. "Let's get that straight."

"That's a smart move. He'd take you down."

"He would not; I'm field agent certified, and I've got a really good teacher. Or… I had one anyway," she corrected herself quickly. "He's kinda ticked off at me right now."

"Yeah, well … too bad for him, seeing as I'm ninety-eight percent sure that SHIELD teachers can't drop you just because you made them mad. Rules and structure and things that sound like Coulson would approve of them. You know the whole … impressively organized thing has to extend to trainers too."

"Well, he wasn't my official teacher, just …" Skye held her breath for a moment, her lips parted as she tried to find a way to explain it and not sound like a troublemaker, or to tip them off on what she was thinking. "My old SO was a jerk, so this guy stepped in to help show me the ropes. That's all," Skye tried to explain. "I've got May now, and she's been teaching me too ... but…" She trailed off and waved her hand. "It really... doesn't matter. Work drama."

"Awwwwww. Sounds like you miss your 'teacher'," Wade said before he put his arm around her and gave her a side hug. "It's okay. I can take care of you in the meantime. Come by the lounge later. Cassielang and I are going to watch a movie and throw popcorn all over the place."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm actually going to try and catch some sleep. Games are really busy for my team right now — not _necessarily_ this one," Skye admitted, though she didn't look happy about it. "And believe me, I'd rather it was _just_ this team. The other one involves schmoozing losers and politicians, and that can be worse than being shot at." She paused. "Almost. If not for the hors d'oeuvres and champagne that is."

"What the heck are you doing that for?" Wade asked.

"Well, I wasn't doing it _last_ year, but apparently my 'people skills' are good, which I think is Coulson code for he wants to have backup at the parties May doesn't want to go to." She made a horrible face. "If I didn't love the guy, I'd punch him the next time he showed me a Capitol invitation letter. But he might fire me, and I actually don't hate this job, when it's not, you know, Games stuff."

"So …. What kind of things do Capitol invitations get you into?" Wade asked as he tried and failed at kicking his feet like a schoolgirl.

Skye paused for just a moment before she allowed her smile to fall into something a little more troublemaking. "Well, that's the important part, isn't it? I've been in the same room as pretty much everyone on the royal wedding list — except the royals themselves, thank _goodness_."

"So are you going to the wedding then?" Kurt asked, and both Skye and Wade looked over to see that the flirting couple in the corner… was no longer flirting in the corner but looked interested in the conversation those two were having.

Skye shook her head quickly. "No way. That's a guest list I'm glad I'll never be on. And you know all the victors were only invited for show so they have someone on Quill's side. Otherwise it's just creeps."

"That doesn't sound like it's going to be much fun," Kurt grumbled. "Creeps and captives?"

"Welcome to the Capitol," Skye said, opening her arms wide. "So, so glad we're overthrowing them soon."

"How soon?"

Skye paused and looked around the transport as she very quickly realized that all eyes were on her for her answer. "You'd have to ask Coulson," she said carefully. "But… I don't think there's going to be another Avenger Games." She added the next part in a rush of breath: "But you _didn't hear that from me._ "

All of them seemed to let out a breath of relief on hearing it. "Well, that's good news at least," Kurt said.

"I know Coulson wanted it sooner. And you guys probably did too. And I _know_ Peter Quill wanted it sooner. But ... soon. Real soon. I don't have an actual date, but… Coulson's making shorter-term plans than he has since I've known the guy." Her eyes shone with excitement. "I seriously can't wait to stop sneaking around and just be rebels. I hate schmoozing bad guys."

"So … who have you been schmoozing?" Wade asked with a grin.

"Actually? Coulson has been keeping me to smaller-time creeps. Businessmen, a few politicians. I've met pretty much everyone related to the Games, too. Some of the trainers are…." She trailed off, unable to come up with a word that appropriately matched the facial expression she was pulling.

"Yes. I've made that same expression trying to describe creep-o's before," Wade said, nodding sagely.

"Especially the business and politician types," Kate agreed. "They're…" She made the same face and then chuckled.

"But like I said, I'm a field agent now," Skye said. "So ... less schmoozing more shooting." She made finger guns at Wade as she said it.

"Oooh yes, we should keep you," Wade said, nodding. "How's your Charlie's Angels pose?"

"We can't keep her permanently," Kurt said with a little smirk. "She has her teacher to get back to."

Skye shot Kurt a _look_ that didn't stand up to the knowing one he was giving her, and she ended up looking back down at her hands as she grumbled, "That's not…" but couldn't even really come up with an argument. "... very likely."

"Uh-huh." Kate was smirking too, though it seemed to be mostly directed at Kurt now that he looked rather smug.

"Smug is not your look," Wade said to Kurt. "What are you so smug over anyhow, Smuggity Smuggers? Share with the class?"

"It's not my secret to share," Kurt said with his gaze resting firmly on Skye.

"It's not a secret if there's _nothing going on_ ," she insisted.

"It's public knowledge then?" Kurt asked with a troublemaking grin.

" _No_ , actually. It's not _any_ … no one knows about that … thing that … is not a thing… _you_ shouldn't even know…" She trailed off and shook her head. "How do you know?"

"I like mysteries," Kurt said with a little laugh. "So is that a confirmation then?"

"That I've worked with him? Yes. Anything else is just… you reading into things."

"Unconfirmed. Or perhaps … in progress."

" _Neither_. Nonexistent," she said, looking supremely relieved when Ororo called back to them that they would be landing soon.

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" Kurt asked, looking insulted, his tone one of total disbelief.

"She can't possibly be saying that," Kate said in a breath of a whisper with her head resting on Kurt's shoulder. "You're never wrong."

Skye looked around the transport but didn't seem to be getting any support, so she blurted out, "It's not even a thing, okay? It never was! Just cuz he's … you know…"

"I _don't_ know; you'll need to explain," Kurt said as Kate made shooing motions with her hands.

Skye straightened up and tried to spit it out if nothing else to _show them_ that it wasn't a big deal. "Just because he's … really good-looking doesn't mean I can _do_ anything about it," Skye said, having lost her steam two words in as she began blushing furiously, though she kept her nose in the air. "So… there."

Kate and Kurt shared a quick look and a broad grin. " _Lies_ ," Kurt said slowly. "You can do something."

"Who?" Wade asked, his chin resting on both palms as he looked between the SHIELD agent and the couple. "I wanna know. Maybe I can suggest things you can do."

But just what it was that Skye could do about it, they didn't get to find out, as Ororo set them down in the hangar and Skye sprang for the door to run to Coulson and give a report of the mission.

"Saved by the bell," Wade said as she ran for it.

"Like that's going to keep her off our radar for more than the ten minutes it'll take Coulson to debrief," Kate said with a wicked grin as Kurt beside her chuckled and kissed her cheek.

Luke laughed as he deplaned. "Remind me to stay on your good sides if I ever find a nice girl, huh?"

"Just wait until _we_ find your girl," Kurt said. "And then go with it. You'll be fine."

"Yeah, don't fight us when we're right, and it'll be smooth sailing," Kate agreed with an impish grin that had Luke laughing outright.

"If you say so."

* * *

 _Night of July 7_

 _Capitol_

* * *

On landing in the Capitol after dropping their kids off to be swept away to the arena, the group of victors immediately headed off to get to work. Considering that Logan was doing such a fine job of both keeping Quill in a decent mood and simultaneously disturbing the rest of the victors by how well he was getting along with his former mentor, Quill was quick to direct him _away_ from Creed with an offer to show him the ropes on how to get sponsors for the kids in the Games.

"They'll all be looking for us anyhow. Might as well make it easy on them," Quill told him quietly. "Hanging around with Creed — for _whatever reason_ at this point — is just not a good idea."

Logan didn't argue, particularly since he had a sneaking suspicion that Quill was absolutely right. Not once had any of Creed's tributes received a thing in the arena in the years he'd been working — so the chances of him knowing who to talk to or how to proceed were pretty slim.

As it turned out, they weren't expected to dress up, thank goodness, and the Capitolites and investors that were mulling about looked delighted that they were all in 'designs' of their own choosing. It made it easier for them to be found, after all.

But if the crowd of Capitolites, SHIELD agents, other victors, stylists, and whatnot had seriously thought that Logan would be unsure about how to move forward … they were sadly mistaken.

Quill didn't get through much of the quick break down before Logan dove in headfirst with a smile that came across as warm and approachable — and just like that, he started working the room.

The Capitolites were eating it up, which left his fellow victors a bit shellshocked, to say the least, hardly recognizing the young man going from person to person with a warm smile as the same one who practically snarled at anyone who came close to him in other situations.

Of course, once Logan had separated from Quill, Peter himself was rather inundated with Capitol sponsors waiting to talk to him. Unlike Logan — or any of the other victors, for that matter — Quill didn't have to worry in the least about trying to _find_ sponsors. If anything, it looked like he would be doing his best juggling act keeping up with all the people who wanted to be sponsors for Five, just to get on the good side of Thanos' future son-in-law.

The other victors were getting down to work as well, though the second-newest in their ranks looked a little lost for a moment. Rhodey had been Pepper's mentor last year, and since she'd died early on, he hadn't really had to do much. He had shadowed Stane trying to get sponsors for Tony, but now, the roles were reversed. He had to get sponsors for Trevor, and Stane's tribute, Nefaria, had died early instead. And he wasn't comfortable with that particular graduation.

He didn't understand how Logan could be so blase about it, either. Half the room was filled with people who had used the victors in one way or another, and somehow, there was the usually surly little victor _smiling_. Rhodey was of the mind that he didn't even want to risk being within three feet of some of these guys — not because they put him off, which was true, but because he might put them through a wall if he didn't keep his temper.

Logan had just finished speaking with a particularly nasty piece of work — the guy had plenty of money, but he and his wife were just _horrible_ — when Rhodey stepped over to him with both eyebrows raised. "What's the secret — liquid courage?" he asked with an attempt at a teasing smirk.

"If I was drinking, half these jackasses would be dead," Logan muttered low. "Just … set it aside. Not a thing you can do about it. Yet."

Rhodey shook his head at the answer. "I don't know how you do it. The urge to pitch some of them out a window…."

"It's not just an urge," Logan agreed. "More like an instinct. But I'll be damned if I'll let that stand in the way of trying to get that kid out of there." He paused and looked around the room for a moment. "To be honest, I just think of all the ways I'd like to kill 'em."

Rhodey's surprise softened the slightest bit, and he nodded. "Yeah… Well, don't let me stop you, then. God knows yours deserves it more than mine," he added in a low tone as he gestured toward the room of Capitolites. "But if instinct kicks in, you're welcome to come find me. I'll probably help you with 'em."

"If instinct takes over — I'm pretty sure you'll see it happen," Logan said with a little look.

"I'm just saying, I want to help finish them off," Rhodey said with a smile that sparkled with trouble.

"Hey," Logan replied with a tip of his head. "Plenty to deal with. Lots to choose from."

"I'll imagine them falling out the window when I talk to them," Rhodey said. "See if it helps." He shook his head as he headed back into the group. "Good luck."

"You too," Logan muttered before he disappeared into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Bobbi was on the far end of the room, more socializing than working, since she had Brian as a tribute, and he had been one of the bloodbath deaths, surprisingly. It was a new sensation, not working immediately after the bloodbath — she'd never lost a tribute this early. Masters had once, but Bobbi never had.

But it gave her the chance to strengthen some ties that Fury wanted her to check up on anyway.

Of course, she wasn't entirely off the hook either; just because her tribute was dead didn't mean she couldn't still get sponsors for the other tribute from Two. And what's more, there were a few sympathetic sponsors who wanted to fund Betsy in her brother's name, so there was that, at least. And considering the arena, it would be good to have sponsor money in their back pockets. Bobbi had a feeling water would be an expensive buy — but a necessary one — as the Games went on.

"Miss Morse!" The voice was a familiar one that cut over the crowd with a bit of a friendly tone. More friendly than she'd earned anyhow. But that's just how Seraph handled all of the victors, it seemed. "It looks like congratulations are in order. You did an incredible job prepping this one."

Bobbi turned to face Seraph with a pleased little smile but had to shake her head. "I'd really like to take the full credit, but he came to me ready-made."

"Oh, well, I guess we're just going to have to agree to disagree on that," she said with a little laugh. "You must have done _some_ coaching with all the time that Viper says you've spent with him."

"I'm a little surprised he listened," Bobbi said, starting to smile despite herself. Seraph's enthusiasm was infectious, even if Bobbi knew better than to fully believe it. "To anything I said, honestly. But if I can take credit for _anything_ he's done…" She had to smirk. "I guess I'm improving my talents."

"That you are," she agreed brightly. "So sad to see your tall blonde boy go down so quickly. Such a shame. But that will give you more time to help Viper, won't it?"

"More time than I'm used to," Bobbi agreed, and she let her face light up with excitement. "I shadowed her my first year, but both of our tributes made it so far… it will be much more interesting to see her work a full Games. I'm learning a lot, even if I'm not a new victor anymore; I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"Well, be sure to direct the others where you can. I'm afraid our young Rhodes can use a little direction himself."

Bobbi glanced around the room until her gaze found Rhodey, who did look uncomfortable talking to a potential sponsor. She shook her head lightly. "He is struggling, isn't he?" she said with a frown. "Of course, it's his first real year… his tribute last year was dead before we even got back from the arena, really," she added quickly, as if she didn't want to seem judgmental.

"Yes, that's right. He had the little redhead, didn't he?" Seraph said with a little frown as she shook her head, looking as if it troubled her. "I'm afraid his prospects don't look terribly good this year, even when that young man cuts the crap and shows his true self."

"You noticed that too?" Bobbi laughed. "He's not as good of an actor as he thinks he is, but he _is_ entertaining."

"Seraph has a way of knowing what everyone is really like," Viper said with a slow smile as she made her presence known to join the other two. "Even if they try to hide it."

Bobbi smiled at her old mentor as stepped slightly to the side to make room for her to join the conversation. "Well, now I'm curious. Any other good actors and actresses I should know about?" she couldn't help but laugh. "I like to think I'm decent at spotting them too, but like I said, I'm not ashamed to learn from someone better."

"Aside from present company?" Viper said, nearly grinning. "Nothing so interesting in the field, it seems."

"Then read the room," Bobbi offered. "We know Logan's smile is fake; he's never that cordial to Capitolites. And on the other hand, Quill's an open book…"

"I didn't think Logan was that cordial at all," Viper said with a little frown.

"You've never tried to _drink_ with him," Bobbi pointed out. "And I don't mean daintily." She dropped her voice to a whisper and grinned at her mentor. "Talk about poison tolerance," she said in a soft tone, her eyes glittering with suppressed laughter.

"Well that's encouraging at least. You'll have to arrange it," Viper replied, though she was smirking to herself. "That sounds much more fun than what I had in mind. But for now … here I was … planning to slip something into Creed's drink — for entertainment of course — and wouldn't you know it … he's not playing along. Point me to someone fun."

Bobbi thought about it for a moment before she started to chuckle. "Oh, well, Stane's not doing anything useful anymore, and he always needs to be taken down a peg — or twelve."

"Do it with me," Viper said. "You infuriate him. Use that and distract him for me."

Bobbi grinned at the invitation before she politely excused herself from the conversation with both Seraph and Viper, strolling through the sponsors to where Stane was muttering over the loss of his tribute so early on.

"What's the matter, Stane? Mad you picked the wrong one this year?" Bobbi asked with a wide grin.

"Not like there was much to pick from," Stane replied, then narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. "You didn't fare much better."

"I know. Twelve caught us all by surprise," Bobbi said, sounding annoyed for a moment before she had to laugh. "But I wasn't the senior mentor. Viper picked the best candidate to win, don't you think? She'll fit in well with the Two victors."

"Yes," he agreed with a nod and a little sigh. "It's about time we got another girl anyhow, isn't it?" He gave her a look of pure malicious amusement as he waited for her answer.

"I say that every year, but for different reasons than you do," she said, her smile falling in an instant as she glared at him. "I just want another girl to remind you of your sad little place in life, Obadiah."

"Good luck with that, blondie," he said in a low whisper as he leaned a bit closer to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her lip curled the slightest. "Don't use up all my goodwill this early in the Games, Stane."

"Are you harassing my fellow mentor, Stane?" Viper asked with a frown as she came up on the other side of him. "Still upset you can't afford the pricetag?"

"That's always what's bothering him," Bobbi agreed before Stane could say anything, shooting Viper a little grateful look.

"Well, we should leave him in his misery," Viper said with a toss of her hair. "Come on, Bobbi — we have much better things to do."

Bobbi smirked Viper's way and nodded, following the older woman — though she was sure to pinch the nerves just under Stane's elbow as she passed him just for being a creep.

The two women barely made it back to Seraph, who was looking past them with a wicked glint in her eyes as Stane stumbled and fell. "Oh my. Someone seems to have had a bit too much to drink," Seraph said loudly.

"I'd call a cab for him, but then he might think I _cared_ ," Bobbi said, though in a much quieter tone meant only for the other two to hear. "I always forget how much _he_ annoys _me_ until I have to talk to him."

"He'll be no trouble for you for the rest of the Games, dear," Seraph said as she patted Bobbi's arm consolingly.

For a moment, Bobbi let out a breath, and then she looked annoyed, though she did shoot a little 'good' under her breath.

"Now, what I'd like .. is to hear more about _you_ , my dear," Seraph said before she dropped her voice low. "I understand you've decided to take up Viper's offer finally."

Bobbi looked honestly surprised to hear that Seraph knew about that, and she glanced toward Viper for a moment. "She's offered to satisfy a little curiosity of mine," she said carefully. "I dabble in biology now that I have a little time to better myself. It's been a few years, and interest has died down."

"Oh," she replied looking a bit down. "I must have misunderstood. I thought you were going to _learn_ from her. More than just a few simple toxins. She needs an apprentice, not a lab partner."

"I prefer to be a partner than to be an underling," Bobbi shot back with one eyebrow raised. "It's fascinating stuff, I won't lie. But I'm nobody's… tribute anymore."

"I'm not referring to just the lab, darling," Seraph replied. "Unless that's all you aspire to do is play with test tubes."

Bobbi glanced between the two older women for a moment, genuinely surprised by just how much Seraph knew about what she had been doing with Viper. She dropped her voice to a low whisper, "And what is your interest in my life aspirations anyway?" she asked.

"I want to be sure that _my_ apprentice is choosing well," she replied, looking more cut-throat than Bobbi had ever seen of her.

"I didn't realize…" Bobbi trailed off, allowing her stunned look to speak for her. "But if that's the case," she said, getting back a little of her steam, "you should know I don't intend to be a _waste_ of time. I'm not after knowledge for knowledge sake. What would be the point if I can't use it?"

Seraph watched her for a moment with her chin tipped up just a bit. "I'm sure we can come up with some sort of test. With time."

"I was under the impression letting my old mentor poison me was a pretty strong test," Bobbi said and couldn't help but smirk.

Viper chuckled at that. "That's in preparation for later, little bird."

"Well, no offense, but I trust you with the poisons a little more than her," Bobbi told Viper honestly.

"Poison and venoms are her thing," Seraph said. "I'll make sure you have the person you need to use them on and that all the doors that you need open are waiting for you."

"I won't use it on anyone who doesn't deserve it," Bobbi said with one eyebrow quirked up. "Anyone who crosses me, creeps like Stane…"

Seraph laughed a bit to herself as Viper smiled. "Of _course_ ; we're not _monsters._ "

Bobbi narrowed her eyes but nodded to herself, quietly. "As long as you know where I stand."

Viper threaded her arm with Bobbi's. "Don't worry so much," she said. "Let's go watch the others scrambling for sponsors. My girl is all set, of course."

Bobbi took a moment before she relaxed and laughed a little. "You've been holding out on me. You didn't _tell_ me you had an easy in; I've been wondering how you did so much work in so little time for _years_!"

"It's good to have the right people on your side," Viper said airly.


	21. Starts With a Bang

**Chapter 21: "Starts With A Bang"**

* * *

 _July 8: Morning of Day Two of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

The sun hadn't even risen yet when the cannon sounded, loud and jarring and way too close for comfort as Kitty startled awake at the noise. It took her a few seconds to realize where she was, and the adrenaline rush of waking up to the cannon still hadn't left her as she glanced immediately over to where her district partner was still laid out against the far wall.

She had to bite her lip when she realized that he hadn't moved a muscle when the cannon went off.

"Alex?" she called out to him, stretching sore muscles from sleeping on the ground as she climbed over to where he was. She'd slept fitfully checking up on him, waking up almost every hour to be sure he was still _breathing_ , but he hadn't ever woken up since he drifted off way back when they first found their hiding spot. When — _when_ — he woke up again, she had plans to tease him about lazing around.

But this was different from all the times she'd woken up to check on him. He was _too_ still. No ragged breathing or …

She was honestly scared to approach him, knowing he was gone already but not quite processing it as she finally got up the courage to press her ear to his chest and listen for breath, for a heartbeat that just wasn't there.

She pulled back quickly, skittering a few steps back away from him with wide eyes as she pressed a hand to her mouth. She'd tried, she really had….

In a rush, she just got _mad_ as she picked up the nearest loose rock and chucked it at the wall, though the sound echoed dully in the small space. But it helped, and she grabbed up another rock, the dull thunk echoing over again a few more times before the anger passed into something softer and she slid to sit with her head on her knees, taking deep breaths that she couldn't quite hear over the whine of a transport engine overhead.

It had come to take Alex.

For a moment, she got irrationally angry at the transport, turning her rock-tossing on the sleek black transport, though the first two rocks clanged loudly, and she stopped after that. Even upset as she was, she knew better than to give her position away like that.

But she didn't think she could have let it pass, the emotionless black _thing_ coming to collect a thirteen-year-old kid, and even as she quickly gathered up her pack, knowing she had to get somewhere else or risk the Careers coming to investigate all the noise she'd made, she wasn't the least bit sorry. Someone should know how stupid this whole thing was.

She stuck around long enough to say goodbye to Alex, but… she didn't think she could stomach watching the whole thing. Her decision made, Kitty turned her back on the transport and started to trek across the desert, so that her last memory of Alex wouldn't be a limp body in a metal arm.

* * *

Along the ridge over where Kitty was walking, Brock was following along as silently as he was able, helped along by the high-pitched whine of the transport as it picked up her district partner. He could see that she was distracted, wiping at her face and eyes, so she wouldn't see him coming until it was too late, and he had a score to settle.

"Hey, you got a thing for picking on little girls?" a new voice called out, momentarily distracting Brock from the girl he was after.

Rumlow turned on hearing it and readjusted his grip on his mace, breaking into a wide grin as he saw Bucky climbing down to meet him. "Just seizing the opportunity."

"Right. I've heard that before from scumbags just like you," Bucky replied, his eyes narrowed as he put his fists up. "Always going for the little guys."

With a cry, Rumlow rushed forward, mace held high as he simply meant to bash the life out of Bucky. He didn't need to hear the goodie two shoes lecture. This was the _Games_. "Wanna move up a spot?" he sneered when Bucky managed to catch his mace before it could connect with his head. "I have no problem with that."

"Except I'm not gonna be that easy, ugly." Both boys had a hold of the mace with one hand, and Bucky didn't wait to see how that was going to turn out before he cracked Brock quickly with two fast shots to the face with his free hand. The grip Brock had loosened, and Bucky wrenched the mace free, only to swing it at Brock like he'd seen done to Alex at the bloodbath — cracking him hard in the chest with a hollow thump that knocked the wind out of him.

Brock tried to get back the upper hand by rushing Bucky to get the weapon back, wheezing horribly. But Bucky had much more power to his swing than Brock did, and he wasn't about to let Brock get hold of the mace again. He booted Brock back, leaving a print across the older boy's face.

Brock went sprawling in the rocks and sand, and although it took him a second to catch his breath, Bucky was a lot like Steve in that he waited for his opponent to get back to a fighting stance before he attacked again. Another goodie two shoes weakness for Brock to exploit. And that was all Brock needed to get a handful of sand and chuck it into Bucky's face before he dove at him and tackled him around the middle.

As Bucky fell backward, he brought the mace down on Brock's back hard, nearly in the middle of his back — and with the hollow _whomp_ that echoed the red cliffs, there was an unmistakable _crack_ that went along with it.

With that, Brock went mostly limp, though it was clear that he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. It had all gone down too fast.

Bucky shoved him off hard and scrambled to his feet, mace raised high … but Brock just … lay there. Both boys were panting in the already scorching heat as they stared at each other.

"What's… the holdup?" Brock wheezed out. "Scared already?"

Bucky frowned as he stared down at his opponent. It was increasingly obvious that Brock _couldn't_ get back up. The fight was over — or at least, the winner was already decided. It wasn't really over until a cannon sounded, and they both knew it. "Just trying to decide if I should end it or leave you for the buzzards to clean up."

"Didn't take you for the type."

"Well, I'm sure not going to feel bad either way," Bucky replied as he tucked the mace into his belt. He took a few steps past the immobile Six boy and peeked over the cliff. "That seems more fitting." He headed back over to Brock and grabbed a hold of the back of his jeans and the nape of his shirt. "You ready for a flying lesson?"

"You gonna follow through or punk out on me?" Brock spat out.

"Don't tempt me into leaving you here in the sun," Bucky said. "As it is, I'm doing you a favor." He set the Six boy down for a moment, just to make sure he wasn't going to fall over with him, before he rested his foot on Brock's hip and shoved hard, tipping him over the edge … though if he was going for merciful, he would have done better to throw him over. Thumps and cracks could be heard all the way down, though halfway down, the cannon went off.

Bucky felt a deep sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Creep or no, that was on him. And even if it was in defense of the mourning girl … it wasn't merciful at all.

He frowned over the edge for a moment longer until he heard the whine of the transport, but he wasn't about to give Rumlow anything like a sendoff. He turned his back to the scene, climbing back over the rocks away from Kitty, since probably the last thing she needed was to be hanging out with a guy holding a bloody mace who had just… done what he'd done.

Not to mention the last thing _he_ needed was to be around people. He'd rather just find a nice quiet hideaway up high and keep an eye on things.

* * *

Clara was taking her turn resting in the shade while Scott and Kamala finished their quick perimeter walk to keep an eye out for other tributes — and to see if there was anything useful in the immediate area.

She'd finished her last watch just before they left, and she was already tired again. She'd never dealt with heat anything like this before and it was, quite simply, _awful._ She closed her eyes, wishing she was back in the soft, moss-covered forests of Seven, though she'd never admit she was missing home. No way. Not here.

Her two allies were in better moods than she was, mostly because Kamala was impossible _not_ to smile around, and Clara watched as the younger girl all but skipped over to their hiding place, something silver in her hands. "Guess what we found while we were out?" she asked in a nearly sing-song tone.

"Something useful, I hope," she replied as she sat up and stretched a bit.

"No idea. Scott said it was for you, so we figured you should open it," Kamala said as she handed over the box marked with a large '7', still trailing the silver parachute.

"How do you know it's for me?" Clara asked as she looked up at Scott. "Could be for you."

"Yeah, I already know I'm not getting anything from my mentor. Just open it," Scott said with a wave.

"If this is for you, I'm going to expect a _loud_ admission that you were wrong," Clara said, shaking her head as she opened the box and frowned for a good, long moment before she finally looked up at the other two. "Okay. So. How are you with staves, Scott?"

"Are there staves in there?" he asked, sounding surprised and almost disappointed, as that might mean he had to follow through with the loud admission of being wrong.

"No," she said as she handed him the staves she had nearby that she'd gotten from the bloodbath. "But it turns out my brother _can_ talk to people." She pulled out what looked like a glove of sorts — with long, shining silver claws like a lion's on each of the fingertips. "I guess he agreed with you, though. We needed another weapon."

She had almost missed the little note tucked into the package between the gloves that read 'cut the dead weight' in Victor's messy scrawl, but as she pulled on the gloves, she saw it, frowned at his sentiment, and wadded it up before she handed the other glove to Kamala. "What do you think?" Clara asked, pulling the first glove on to try out.

Kamala tried on the other glove for herself, tipping her head to the side as she studied the sharp edges. "I think anyone who makes you mad is going to immediately regret it," she said, making a face before she peeled the glove off and handed it to Clara.

"Pretty sure that was the whole idea," Clara replied. "That big guy yesterday would have been in a whole world of hurt if I had these."

"There's still time. This is only Day Two," Scott pointed out. "Though… things are moving pretty quickly, it seems. We heard two cannons while we were out."

"Scott likes to get up before the sun, which is _stupid_ ," Kamala whispered to Clara.

"It's smart," Clara defended. "Have to see what's coming. And everyone will be sleeping in if they can. I know I'd like to."

"You're welcome to if you want," Scott pointed out. "Sun's getting high enough that it'll be smarter to stay in the shade for a while."

"I'd rather find some water," Clara said. "But I'm not stupid enough to go out there when it's just getting hotter."

"Water would be nice, though," Kamala had to admit, staring forlornly at the empty water bottle.

"We'll go looking once it gets closer to evening," Scott promised. "But it's only going to get hotter out there until we hit midday, and if we don't find anything, that's a lot of water wasted."

"If we stay still for too long, we'll be targets," Clara pointed out.

"I think we can risk it until evening, but I don't want to sleep here tonight," Scott agreed. "Two cannons this morning means something's going on out there, so as long as we don't get caught up in it, I think we can stay put a while longer while someone else does the entertainment work."

"And there we have it," Clara said in a teasing tone to Kamala. "Our fearless leader has spoken."

Kamala giggled when Scott frowned at the nickname. "Well, what I heard was 'we're staying here to take naps', so I'm all for it," she teased. "Fearless over here has longer legs than me. He's hard to keep up with."

"We'll just have to take an arm each when we go. Hold him back a bit," Clara agreed.

"Oh good. I thought you were going to suggest I carry you," Scott said with a smirk.

"Is that an option?" Clara asked. "Piggy back rides?"

"No."

"No, he just picks you up and slings you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes," Kamala said, making a face. "I'd know."

"So my turn next then," Clara decided with a little laugh. "Sounds like fun."

"Those were special circumstances — doesn't count," Scott said, shaking his head quickly as he held up both hands.

"I don't think he likes me much," Clara said in a stage whisper.

"That can't be true, or he'd be madder at your nicknames," Kamala replied with a giggle in the same whisper.

"Oh, come on," Scott said, shaking his head at both of them.

"Relax, Scott," Clara said as she stretched out a bit. "We're just picking."

Scott shook his head at both of them. "I like you both just fine, or I wouldn't have allied with you," he muttered.

Both girls shared a look and shook their heads together. "It's alright, fearless. We know you love us," Kamala called out, and Scott simply looked resigned at that point to the new nickname — seeing as both of them had latched onto it with both hands.

* * *

Remy didn't mind working alone in the least, since that was how he got his best thieving done. And considering the fact that he hadn't been able to get anything in the way of water or food from the Tesseract, it was time for a little thieving.

He knew that the Tens would have had their pick of supplies from the Tesseract at the bloodbath, since everyone had given them such a wide berth — and besides, if he was going to steal something as vital as water in a dessert, he'd rather steal it from someone who wasn't tiny. He'd already spotted his district partner and her little spider friend with their tarp camp setup, but he'd passed them by. If Gwen had found water, she needed it.

In fact, if those two were still there when he was through here, he might bring them some of his spoils. With the Eleven girl gone, that little spider boy was the youngest out here, and Remy needed the practice anyway. Maybe he could slip them a water bottle while they were still sleeping through the hot afternoon sun.

That was the _real_ challenge with this arena. Everyone slept in daylight and moved at night if they had any brains. So the best time for thieving was the middle of the day, and that simply was _not_ what he was accustomed to.

Not that he couldn't adjust.

He found the Tens' camp easily enough; they weren't exactly trying to hide. Why should they? They were terrifying enough to take on whoever came their way.

But Remy had to grin to himself when he saw how they had positioned themselves, backs to the cliff wall rather than to each other, weapons within reach. They clearly didn't trust each other in the least. The Ten girl was awake, on watch, but her partner was sleeping lightly, and when she stood up to take a look around for intruders — like Remy — Arkady woke up, watched her go with a glare, and then fell back into his light sleep.

This would be a challenge. But on the other hand… the Tens had more than one backpack each. Surely one of them had food or water in it.

Remy was perfectly quiet as he slid down the side of the cliff face. In the dusty sand, it was impossible not to disturb something with every movement, but he was as quiet as was possible on this ground. When he came to a stop, he frowned at the backpacks for a moment. The safest move would be to just take a couple and get out of there before he was caught, but he didn't have any guarantee that he'd take a pack with water or food. For all he knew, they were full of knives. Or the blood of their enemies. That seemed like a Ten thing to do.

He was careful as he unzipped the first bag, and when it was full of just rope and a light blanket, he set it aside and searched through the second. That one had a full water bottle, to Remy's delight, and he had just zipped it back up when the zip caught, and the sound, even if it was slight, was enough to wake up Arkady.

As Remy stood, he heard the sharp _crack_ of a whip, and an instant later, the tail of it was wrapped around his neck. In a second, Remy had fallen backward, both hands tugging at the whip to give himself a little space to breathe.

"You cannot _steal_ from us," Arkady said as he hauled on the whip handle, slowly reeling Remy closer, his tone one of almost disbelief.

"Remy kin steal from anyone," he replied easily, though the light tone was hard to maintain with the whip around his neck. Still, as Arkady gave one more hard tug, Remy's hand went to his

pocket, and he pulled out the little surprise he'd found at the Tesseract, the bo staff extending in one swift movement as he cracked it across the side of Arkady's head.

As Remy tried to get some distance, a knife went whistling past his ear, missing him by enough of a margin to have just sliced through his hair before it found a new home in Arkady's shoulder.

The other Ten tribute had arrived.

With a curse in Russian, the big, heavy-set boy yanked the knife out of his shoulder, shifted the grip and pulled hard on the whip handle to get Remy closer again.

But that was clearly a mistake, because as soon as Remy was closer — gasping but still grinning confidently — he rammed the end of the staff into Arkady's shoulder, taking advantage of the injury there to get Arkady to cry out. He didn't pause as he spun and cracked him again, this time hard enough in the arm, just at the elbow, that Arkady was forced to let go.

And from there, with more space to work, Remy fell into a smirk.

He almost couldn't help throwing in a little flourish as he spun his staff and unwound the now ownerless whip from his neck, grinning over at Yuriko. "Thanks for de assist, but Remy kin take it from here," he called her way as Arkady, enraged, made a grab for him and missed, getting a bo staff in the nose for his trouble.

Remy moved with the momentum, twirling his staff to crack Arkady over the head and send the big guy sprawling. He wasn't as fast as Remy was, and now that the young man had a good rhythm building, Arkady simply couldn't get a hit in as Remy simply started to spin and twist, cracking the bo staff against bone as the hits got harder and Arkady got slower.

The bigger, bulkier boy stumbled and fell to his knees — and Remy took the opportunity to bring the end of the bo staff up, cracking him under the chin and knocking him onto his back. As Arkady stumbled, Remy followed him, the bo staff under the bigger boy's chin once more as he drew back and grinned a moment before he jammed the end of it into his neck.

The cannon boom echoed in the desert mountains, and Remy left his staff where it was for a moment as he grinned down at Arkady. "Bang. You dead," he said before he pulled back, twirled the staff, and looked to Yuriko, who had apparently been content to let the boys fight it out and see who came out the winner.

She strolled over to pick up her own packs, though she never took her eyes off of him, and simply walked away from the scene, leaving Arkady's packs behind. "You have earned his, Cajun," she called out.

Remy didn't argue but just smiled that much wider as he shouldered the pack. "Well alright," he said as he opened the second and took out the water bottle, taking a good long drink.

* * *

"Hey, Spider-Gwen. Rise and shine; the sun's starting to set," Miles whispered, shaking Gwen's arm. He had been on watch for the second half of the long, hot morning, and he was itching to get moving now that things were about to cool down. His lips were starting to crack from a day and a half without water, and he knew they weren't going to find any here — it was time to move on.

Gwen mumbled a bit in her sleep, but when he kept shaking her arm, she finally sat up and stretched. "What'd I miss?" she asked sleepily, and he just shrugged.

"Oh, you know. Nothing much. I think I saw a tumbleweed?"

"So … shall we go in search of water?"

Miles nodded and offered her a hand up. "That would be _great_. People aren't built to go this long without that stuff, you know. I've been told it's important."

"People aren't built this long to go without a chocolate cone, who are you kidding?" she teased before she bumped his shoulder.

"Oh, don't tease. That sounds like _heaven_ right now. Cold ice cream?" Miles put a hand over his heart. "Now that's all I'm going to be thinking about. All day. I hope you know this. That was pretty much my favorite part of the whole 'stuck in the Capitol training for three days' thing. And now it's just… sitting there. In my head. Forever."

"Just thought I'd share my misery," she said with a little smirk.

"You're mean-spirited, you know that?"

"Well-known," she said with a ghost of a laugh. "Gwen Stacy, terror of District Eight."

"The district must have a bad, bad case of arachnophobia," he said, grinning wide, though the action split his cracked lips.

"Oh, it's terrible," she agreed with mock severity.

"So, what kind are you? Red all over... " he teased, gesturing at her bad sunburn.

"Do not tease, and I have no idea. Roasted recluse probably."

"Don't worry; you'll hit your molting phase soon," he teased, gesturing at her peeling skin. "Seriously, that looks painful."

"Blondes were not meant to live in the desert."

"So you're a jungle spider. Maybe a yellow-haired tarantula," Miles decided. "I don't know if that's a real spider, but until someone shows me a book and proves me wrong, I stand by that."

"Pink-edged jumping spider," she decided. "Which totally is made up, but it sounds cute."

"And terrifying. Jumping spider?" Miles shook his head as he shouldered his small pack on the way out of their small shelter. He pulled down the tarp they'd been using for shade and started to fold it up. "Spiders shouldn't be able to jump. That's just wrong. We've got some nasties in District Eleven in the orchards and fields, and if they could _jump_ too?" He shuddered. "No thank you."

"Well, what are you, then?" Gwen asked, holding her bag open so Miles could stuff the tarp into it.

Miles frowned a bit as he thought it over. "Wolf spider," he decided. "Big and scary looking but doesn't really move much, but if you bug them in the field, they are scary fast and chase you." He frowned for a moment as Gwen winced on sliding the pack onto her shoulders as the pack scrubbed at her flaking, burnt arms. "You want me to carry that?"

"Don't they bite?" she asked as she handed the pack to him.

"Some of them do," Miles said. "But generally, if you leave them alone, they'll leave you alone. It's the black widows you really have to worry about. My friend found one under the window at the school, and I have _never_ heard him scream that loud, or that high-pitched, in my _life_."

"So you two have a lot in common then, huh?" Gwen teased.

"Yes, I could totally be a widow spider," Miles said with a crooked grin. "I too could scare the heck out of Ganke and make him scream like a little girl."

"Yes. You're totally a black widow," she said with a flat tone. "Until you start screaming like a girl yourself."

"Hey, I haven't done any screaming these whole Games. That time I squeaked when the cannon went off earlier wasn't even that high-pitched," he added before she could bring it up.

"A hawk answered you," she said with a grin.

"He did not. He was just… startled by the cannon," Miles defended himself.

"He thought he found his _soulmate_ ," Gwen laughed. "That's why he kept circling."

"He just knows a couple spiders when he sees them. Hawks eat spiders, you know," Miles argued, following after Gwen at a leisurely pace as the two of them searched the tops of the cliffs for any sign of water. They weren't making much progress — but the cooling evening air was a nice relief, at least.

"I think we might be in the wrong place," she said as she slowed to take a seat for a few minutes.

Miles let out a long sigh and dropped down to sit next to her, but before he could agree, they heard a new sound, like a bell chiming, and he glanced up at the sky to see the silver parachute coming toward them. "Maybe not," he said, the grin widening as he jogged over to catch the parachute, not at all surprised when there was a big number '8' on the box. "It's for you!" he called over his shoulder.

"You're kidding," she said, wide-eyed. "What the heck did I do?"

"You probably just got it for being an awesome pink-edged jumping spider," Miles told her as he handed her the box. "Go on — whatcha got? Anything useful?"

Gwen pulled open the box and couldn't help the loud sigh of relief when she saw the two water bottles inside — and when she touched them, she could feel the cool condensation. Not only was there water inside, but _cool_ water. She didn't say anything but to hold the bottles up and toss one Miles' way, and he broke into surprised and relieved laughter.

"Norman loves me," she said with a little smile.

"Clearly." Miles took a long drink of the cool water and sighed happily. "I mean, we should totally save this stuff, but… this…. This is heaven."

"Yes. Go easy, and enjoy it. Make it last," she agreed.

"Think Sam pitched in at all?" Miles asked as he screwed the cap back on. "I mean, there are _two_ , after all…" He smiled crookedly. "Unless…. you think Norman Osborn wanted you to have both and leave me in the lurch, but I'm going to say Falcon helped until someone proves me wrong."

"Until someone says otherwise, that's what I'm going with too," Gwen agreed, even if she knew that simply wasn't the case. At all.

"Well then. To our mentors," Miles said, toasting her with the water bottle and a grin.

* * *

"I'm sure glad I didn't go running for anything crazy like a _pack_ or anything." Billy was just watching America with a smug expression on his face. He had been a pain ever since figuring out how he could use their supplies to their advantage, and America almost wanted to hit him for it — if she wasn't so grateful for the fact that it was keeping them both alive.

America rolled her eyes Billy's way as she snatched the full water bottle from him. "Alright, alright, shut up, Billy. I get it. You're a smartypants."

"Good looking, _well-hydrated_ smarty pants."

"Do you hear me complaining?" America shot back. The two of them had been travelling under the sunset for a while now, headed for the next hiding place, and she even had to admit that Billy was a good keeper for the water bottle, which was full of all the water he'd collected with his ingenious tarp system. "But for the record, _I_ got the pack. You got the knuckles. Not my fault the supplies were switched."

"We're just well-paired, that's all," he replied. "Now all we need to do is come up with something to eat."

"I'll find us something," she promised. "Gotta be, what, jackrabbits or lizards or _something_ out here."

"Probably," he said with a shrug. "Unless you want to try going back to the Tesseract. Might be able to pick something up…"

She reached over and smacked him in the back of the head. "If we do that, I _know_ you'll do something stupid," she told him with a stern look. "So we're not doing that."

"Well, their two big guys are out," he argued with a little glare.

"Tell you what," she said. "If I haven't found us anything by the time another Career shows up in the sky? We'll go to the Tesseract."

"That … actually sounds like a reasonable plan," he said with a nod. "For now."

"You sound so surprised."

"It's just that you're always saying _I'm_ the thinker," he teased.

"And you are," she laughed, punching him lightly in the arm as they picked their way over the rocks.

"So... what are the chances that one of those three cannons was for another Career, do you think?" Billy couldn't help but ask, and America turned to give him a glare.

"Dunno, but we'll find out in a couple hours anyway, so why not try patience on for size?"

But if America had hoped to shut Billy down with that one, she got the opposite reaction — he just started laughing. "Wow. We must have slipped into some kind of alternate dimension. A patience lecture from America Chavez. That or it must be the end times."

"Shut up, Billy," she said, but there was no real bite to it as she shook her head at him.

"Seriously, though, you're going to eat those words when it turns out, like, both Ones and the other Two are dead," Billy insisted.

"You're an eternal optimist, Billy Kaplan."

"I bet they strangled each other," he said, nodding to himself. "Over who had the prettiest hair."

"Oh, if that was the fight, then it was Four's girl who started it," America chuckled. "I have never seen someone that full of themselves."

"And the One boy lost."

"Obviously," America couldn't help but laugh.

The two of them made their way through the rocky valley, with each of them coming up with increasingly ridiculous suggestions as to which Careers they would see in the sky that night and why they had died, though Billy's suggestion that One's girl had spontaneously combusted was America's personal favorite, and by the time they'd found a spot to rest for a moment to watch the parade of faces, she almost wanted Billy to be right just so they could say that was how she died.

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau


	22. Waiting on Reunions

**Chapter 22: "Waiting on Reunions"**

* * *

 _July 8: Day Two of the Games_

 _Capitol Building for the Mentors_

* * *

It was an entirely different experience for Bobbi, not really _working_ during the Games. Viper had her source of sponsorship with Seraph should Betsy ever really need it, so all of a sudden, Bobbi found herself with … nothing to do.

It wasn't like last year, when, after Natasha had died, she had stepped in to try to drum up support for Clint, seeing as Masters wasn't doing his due diligence on that front anyway. This time, she honestly didn't have anything that she _could_ work on — and she was finding out firsthand that this meant she had front row seats to Viper's running commentary on the Games, on the victors…. The woman had a sharp opinion on just about everything, and with Bobbi in her good graces now, apparently that meant she simply _had_ to share.

At the moment, Viper was commenting on the start to the second day, and how convenient it was to start out with a death so at least _her_ tribute wouldn't be in danger as long as she stayed smart and out of trouble, since the quota had been met and the best fights were always later in the Games anyway… when she was upstaged by an incredibly angry Johan Schmidt.

It was still early enough in the Games that there were multiple different feeds. The districts would get the most important highlights of course, since many homes just had the single feed — but here in the Capitol, at the same time Kitty was checking Alex's pulse, other cameras were following Brock Rumlow as he let the transport lead him to a possible tribute, and others were following the constant bickering in the Careers as the clash of egos was clearly proving difficult to handle there.

Schmidt had been preening about how smart his tribute was to follow the transport, to let it guide him to a hiding spot for the other tributes in the Games — right up until Rumlow ran into Bucky. After that, his cocky confidence had given way to a growing expression of fury and disbelief, and by the time Bucky had broken Brock's back, Schmidt was an even deeper red than usual.

For a moment after Rumlow's cannon sounded, Schmidt glared around the room full of victors like he wasn't quite sure where to _start_ , but he finally turned his attention to Quill, stalking over to him with a slightly purple hue. "Why can't you teach your tributes how to kill a man properly?" he demanded of Quill. "That's two in two years who don't know how to finish the job."

"Hey, since when do you even _care_?" Quill shot back. "I didn't know the Red Skull was so concerned about anyone else's pain levels."

"I've grown tired of watching your sorry excuses for tributes _bungle_ the Games for the rest of ours," Skull sneered. "Your last boy couldn't finish up either, and I'm starting to think it's not the _tributes_ that are the problem."

"I teach my kids how to survive," Quill said evenly, his eyes narrowed. "Something you might want to consider trying one of these days."

"You'd best grow a stomach for this. You're running out of time," Schmidt shot back. "I'd hate to hear you _disappointed_ your new family."

But if Schmidt had been hoping to intimidate Quill with that crack, the opposite was true, as it only seemed to make him madder. "Jokes on you. Pretty sure whatever I do, I'll be a disappointment to them."

"On that we can agree," Schmidt sneered before he simply turned away from Quill like he couldn't stand to be near the young man anymore, stalking over to turn his attention to the newest victor with a deeply settled glare. "And you — stay away from my tribute."

"Pretty sure I'm already about as far away as I can get," Logan said dryly before he looked over to Jessica. "Wouldn't that be something … sweetest tribute out there to win? Represent Six?"

"It would be nice to have a _person_ to represent Six," Jessica replied without missing a beat.

"You could teach her how to braid her hair," Logan muttered, knowing full well the jokes that had gone around about the campfire gang. "And burn marshmallows."

"Pretty sure that's your department," Jess shot back. "Resident campfire specialist."

"The marshmallows, sure," he agreed as he reached up to run a hand through his hair. "Hair never would cooperate."

Bobbi was trying hard not to smirk too broadly watching the other victors tear down the increasingly red-faced Schmidt, and she had thankfully schooled her expression by the time Schmidt even looked that way — though he was looking more to Viper than to Bobbi anyway as the older woman slunk over to where he was and threaded her arm through his, muttering something in his ear that seemed to get rid of the purple pallor, at least.

"...in good time," Viper said — though that was all that Bobbi had really caught. But it seemed to be enough to settle him away from the purple and into a far more familiar heated, red coloring.

With the room more settled, several of the victors started to spread out again, having caught up on the morning news from the Games. They were ready to start getting back to work with sponsors again, though Quill skirted around a few Capitolites who looked like they wanted to congratulate him on his tribute's first kill so he could catch up to Erik Lensherr, of all people.

"Listen," Quill said as he slid up to the older victor. "I'm going to suggest to some of these…" He paused and gestured toward the would-be sponsors. "Well, I have more than I need, and that sweet girl you've got could use the help more than Barnes could."

"That's a bit out of the bounds of the usual way of doing business, isn't it?" Erik asked with a frown, clearly regarding Quill as if he was trying to figure out his stake in the matter — which he was.

"I don't need them, I don't want them, and I'm not breaking any rules by talking up your tribute in conversation, right?" Quill asked, his eyes wide and his expression totally open. "You should hear Logan talk up the Six girl. It's not against the rules…"

"You're using the new victor as an example on what's _allowed_ …"

"You haven't seen him work like I have," Quill pointed out. "He knows what's strictly in the rules and works around them, so — trust me on this. It's not like I'm doing anything _illegal_." He shook his head. "Just run with it, okay? I don't want to see her… she's got a good heart, you know?"

"Yes, she does," Erik said with a little nod, though he was still openly studying the young man. "How many tributes are the two of you rooting for this year then?"

Quill rubbed the back of his neck. "So I can't root for more than just mine? It's not a crime."

"No, it's not a crime to have your favorites," Erik said with a smile. "There have been times I've all but held my breath hoping my own didn't gain any ground … but what the two of you are doing is not good for _yourselves._ It's bad enough getting involved with your own tribute — but to worry about others too?"

"I'm getting married soon. Let me live a little first," Quill said, looking a little sheepish.

Erik raised an eyebrow his way and nodded once, very slowly. "Yes. Well, I'll not turn away someone who would like to help her. She _does_ have a good heart, though how you know that, I'd rather not know."

Quill broke into a more usual smile for him as he nodded. "You know me. I just seem to know things. No idea how." He shrugged with both palms upturned.

"Peter Jason Quill," Erik said, not even trying to hide his amusement. "You are a great many things, but an intuitive judge of character is _not_ one of those things."

"That's just the way I was made," he said, grinning as he saluted Erik with two fingers and launched himself back toward the Capitolites with a little more fervor.

It continued like that into the afternoon, when the fight between the Tens and Eight's boy came to light on the screen, and most of the crowd gathered seemed to be holding their breath. The charming thief from Eight had a bit of a following, but trying to steal from the creeping monsters from Ten seemed downright suicidal.

Charles had made a point to stay close to Jessica, almost apologetically, as Hank came to stand with them, looking more nervous than both of them as it was obvious that Remy had been caught red-handed. As the fight went on, more of the victors came to stand nearby, though no one spoke until the fight started to turn, and right after one particularly wicked-sounding _crack_ of the bo staff, the mood of the group seemed to shift a bit.

"Didn't say he was that good with a staff," Logan muttered to Jess with a little smirk.

"I didn't know either," Jess said with a little smile. "He spent his whole time here trying to flirt with … everyone."

"You sayin' he threw you off your game?" Logan teased.

"Like a little flirting would throw me. I'm saying he never _showed_ anything."

"Sounds like you're covering, Drew," he chuckled before he bumped her shoulder. "What else were you doing?"

"Oh, you know. Someone has to look out for Quill," she said airily.

"Is that code for somethin' I should watch out for?"

"Not this time, but I wouldn't be surprised if you do need to watch your back during the wedding," she said, this time a bit more seriously.

"You know something I don't?" he asked with a little frown.

"I know something Quill does," she replied. "He mentioned that your name has popped up a few times at the palace." She leaned forward so the cameras wouldn't catch what she whispered to him. "He didn't catch the context."

"Doesn't really matter," he replied with a shrug. "Doubt it's too concerning."

"Just try to stay off the radar of anyone blue," she told him with one raised eyebrow.

"The only one blue even half interested in what I'm up to is 'starting a line' with Jubes," he said dryly.

"Oh, you mean the one who keeps showing up at my place to steal my stylists for a double date?" she teased.

"Yep. That's the one," he agreed. "Not scary at all."

"I'll deny it if you say it, but I'm gonna miss that idiot. It's been fun coming back to their little powwows every day," Jess said with an obviously affectionate smile.

"She'll only stick around as long as she has to," Logan said. "She's already upset over all this mess."

"For her sake, I hope she can get out fast. Not everyone gets that chance, and she deserves it," Jess agreed with a sigh. "I like her too."

About that time, the cannon went off, and Remy was the last man standing as the Ten girl simply left the scene. Almost immediately, the congratulations started up. Everyone seemed relieved to see the tall boy from Ten go down, though Jess turned Hank's way with an ill-hidden smile.

"Sorry about that," she said, not sounding sorry in the least.

"Oh, no," Hank replied. "No, I'm just glad this one didn't take the cannibalistic route. It was a real concern."

She pulled a face. "Yeah, after last year's, I can understand that," she said before she patted his shoulder with one hand. "Well, what say I buy you a drink later tonight to console you over the loss of your tribute?" she teased.

"And toast your raging Cajun," he agreed with a smile.

"I like that," she laughed. "I think I'll have to call him that. The sponsors will love it."

Since the setting and the temperatures were so oppressive during daylight hours, not much was going on through the arena, and most of the victors took the opportunity to try and catch a break. All of them were trying to be aware of what was going on most of the time, so it was exhausting to be _on_ during the day with nothing but the Capitolites to keep their attention. But, when the sun started to go down and the activity in the arena started to go into an upswing, one by one, they all started to pay closer attention once more.

The darker it got, the more Logan started to frown, though. He knew that if there were no more deaths or scuffles, then the most 'entertaining' thing on the screen would likely be Scott when the day's deaths were played out in the sky, and it had him concerned for the young man. No one should have to grieve their brother on live television.

It was no surprise, then, when the main feed was focused on Scott as the faces began to appear in the sky. The room holding the victors was nearly silent — all of them waiting to see how the kids were going to handle the news …

The feed on Scott didn't show the faces in the sky, but it was clear exactly when Alex's was projected; the young man from Seven just _stopped_. He was staring up with the most open look Logan had ever seen from him, and it was to his credit that he stayed to the end of the parade of faces before he simply turned on his heel, his back to the night sky as he sat down barely inside their hideout, staring at nothing and not moving an inch once he was there.

Creed had walked up behind Logan as the show began, and on seeing Scott's reaction, he dropped his hand heavily on Logan's shoulder and shook his head. "He's done," Creed said, and the hackles on Logan's neck raised as he turned to look his way.

"Not even close," Logan half growled back at him. "He's not a quitter."

But Creed shook his head with a growing smile. "I've seen it enough times. The kid's done. It's over. At least he wasn't a bloodbath."

Logan's scowl deepened. "You've _caused_ it enough times," Logan replied, shrugging him off and walking away to go join Jessica, seeing as he couldn't go by Bobbi — not with Viper smiling toward them.

But Victor's good humor fell as Quill was quick to point out that Scott had "...a really great support system," gesturing at the screen — where Kamala and Clara had settled themselves on either side of Scott and were hugging the stuffing out of the unmoving boy. "She learn that from you, Creed? That's .. she's just so … _snuggly._ "

Creed looked positively livid as he watched the screen for a moment — and Jessica was sure she saw his eye twitch before he turned and left the room in a huff.

The overlarge victor had brushed right past Coulson on his way out of the room, and the usually stoic SHIELD agent was almost outright smirking as he walked up to the other victors. "What's got him so…?" He shook his head, unable to stop the amused look on seeing Creed so tweaked.

"Found out his baby sister is a snuggler," Logan said.

"She must be the black sheep of the family," Coulson said dryly.

"And a cuddly one at that."

Coulson's smirk widened for a second before he finally cleared his throat and looked a little more business-like. "I need to have a word with you, Mr. Howlett," he said to Logan. "On how you _should_ be running this side of things. I know you're new, so… this will be your 'get with it' warning speech."

Schmidt and Viper were smirking at seeing he was getting in some trouble, but Logan didn't look too terribly upset as he followed Coulson out of the room. "Takin' me to the principal's office are ya?" Logan said dryly.

"You practically live there anyway," Coulson replied, shaking his head.

"Not surprised. Such little faith." He waited until they were a little further from the cameras and crowds before he continued. "So really. What now?"

"We had a small dust-up in Eleven yesterday, and a few of our more powerful allies got themselves in trouble. If you could manage to see them to freedom before the Capitol starts questioning them…"

"Should be easier than what I've been putting up with," Logan said with a nod.

"It's not a scheduled mission, so this will be solo, and I'll be honest, I didn't run it by Fury, just Hill," Coulson told him.

"Even better," Logan said, smirking. "Fury'd make it miserable."

"He'll likely bust your chops, and mine, when you get back," Coulson admitted.

"Like that's never happened before," Logan replied dryly. "Just tell him it got to the point that someone was going to die."

"I was going to tell him I stepped in to save one of my operatives," Coulson told him honestly. "Skye was on the mission that went south, and I don't want the Capitol to know she's been running out in the field if they start questioning their prisoners."

"Got someone that needs to die too, or just free the ones that got caught?"

"If they have any information, if the prisoners were questioned at all…" Coulson let out a sigh.

"I'll take care of it," he promised.

"I try not to ask for massacres if I can help it," Coulson said with a small smile Logan's way. "If you can do this without killing anyone, that would be preferred."

"That'll be up to them then, won't it?"

"Good luck, Logan," Coulson told him, shooting the young man a small smile before he headed off, having seen Logan to where he needed to go. He had another team to check up on, after all.

* * *

Logan didn't take much time at all to prep, mostly what little time it took to change and gear up — which he did as Hill filled him in on exactly what he needed to know and showed him the maps and gadgetry he'd be using for the mission.

Through it all, he nodded here and there, ready to start up as soon as she was finished.

"If this goes well, I'll be having you do a lot more of these solo runs," Hill told him as they headed down to the hangar. He only nodded in response to that as they continued down the hall. His uniform for these missions included total coverage of his face, and once they were away from Hill's office, he didn't speak — just in case the wrong person overheard them and recognized his voice.

"Harry Tabeshaw will be your pilot — but he won't be able to do anything but get you there and back." Hill stopped as they got to the running transport. "I know you're getting run left and right, but you'll need to debrief with Coulson and me when you get back." Again, Logan nodded before he headed for the transport and headed out to Eleven.

As it turned out, Harry was a friendly kind of guy. Even though Logan didn't respond, the old tribesman barely seemed to slow down with his chatter and storytelling until they got close to Eleven's air space, and then he suddenly fell silent for a while until it was time for Logan to jump. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous," Harry said. "I know you got orders to be quick — but don't come back here bleeding all over the place. I don't know jack about first aid."

Logan had to smirk at that and gave the old guy the thumbs up before Harry opened the hatch and he simply leapt out.

On landing, Logan cut the chute loose and tucked it into a hollowed out tree nearby before he started toward where the prisoners were being held.

They weren't hard to find — exactly where Hill had said they'd be — but the guard detail around them was more intense than what the intel had suggested. He fell into a low crouch and slowly made his way around them, trying to avoid a disaster, and listening hard to what the guards were saying between themselves.

One of the prisoners was previously considered a non-threat, and they were planning to start interrogations as soon as their specialist arrived, since the Capitol forces wanted to know just who else they had missed in their estimation of who and what was considered to be a threat. And that didn't sound good for anyone involved. Still, it was good news — the Capitol hadn't gotten there _yet._

The group of rebels was being held in a fortified warehouse of sorts that housed all kinds of heavy farming equipment, and when Logan found his route in — high up and through one of the windows near the office spaces — he wasn't surprised to see that inside as well as outside had guards at every entrance. He watched them for a little while to see what their patterns were and what order they'd have to be taken out so that no suspicion would be raised, and after he'd seen the pattern three or four times, he even had a good idea of how to take them out.

He started to climb down out of the rafters on a rope, hidden by a large combine, which he hid behind as the guards lazily walked by. He counted in his head how long it would take for the passing guard to turn, and when he came back, Logan simply darted out and disarmed him before he knocked him out cold and dragged him over to stash under the combine. He used the man's own cuffs to restrain him and shoved the guy's gloves in his mouth to keep him quiet when he woke up, then rushed off silently to the next mark.

The whole inside operation took all of ten minutes, and by the time he approached the group of battered prisoners, they were all watching him. The guards hadn't spotted him, but the rebels had been following his progress since he'd dropped out of the rafters — and they were anxious to get rolling.

He didn't have to say a word as he opened the makeshift cage, and as soon as they started to leave, one of them was sure to lean in and tell him what he knew.

"I'm glad to see SHIELD didn't forget about us," he said quietly. "Most of us will be fine, but we have one guy that … he's not going to make it without medical intervention." Logan looked over to see the tall tribesman that was being supported by one of the bigger men there. His right hand was missing, and his right leg was mangled and bleeding badly — though his fellow rebels had done all they could to keep him from bleeding out. "You're going to take him with, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure," Logan agreed, though he wasn't sure the guy was going to make it all the way back for the shape he was in. "Was anyone interrogated?"

"Just the usual: who do you work for, who are you working with — and just by the one guy. Head Sentinel. He didn't get anything from anyone though."

"Where is he?" Logan asked, and the guy only smiled before another answered.

"He'll be the one right outside the front door. Vibranium helmet. A good foot taller than you, and nothing but trouble."

Logan nodded in understanding. "Give me five minutes," he said. "And we'll get your friend out of here. The rest of you going to be alright?"

"We know how to hide," the rebel promised with a smirk.

With that, Logan looked to the back entrance — the least guarded of all of them — and told the rebels to wait while he cleared the path. "Just take him to the other side of those trees," Logan directed. "I'll take him from there. I gotta go have a word with that guy, and their shift change is in just a few minutes. You should be gone by then."

The rebels looked to the dark patch of forest and didn't seem to be convinced. "Where is your backup team?"

"Get to the trees," Logan said one more time before he jogged back to the warehouse.

As promised, the man in charge of the prisoners was wandering about like he had nothing to fear. He never saw Logan coming — decked out in black, and hiding in the shadows.

In a quick move, the man was disarmed and dragged around the corner to a more private area. Logan's interrogation was quick — and totally fruitless, not that Logan had expected the guy to talk. He didn't want to leave any weapon marks, so as the Sentinel began to spit out curses and promises of a painful death for him, Logan simply and neatly broke his neck.

By the time he met up with the handful of rebels in the trees, the call was finally going up for backup from the scrambling Sentinels. Word was out already. The Head Sentinel had been murdered. They were looking for a large group — and Logan shifted gears to get the injured rebel to Harry's transport. The rest of the rebels were able to scatter, but that man wasn't going to get out on his own.

They had to duck and dodge three separate patrols on the way to the rendezvous, but as soon as the doors closed, Harry had to shake his head. "Didn't I tell you I don't do medical?"

"Didn't ask you to," Logan called back, finally breaking his silence with the old man as he turned his attention to the injured rebel and trying to make sure the guy didn't bleed out before they got back. "You're not going to die on me are you … didn't catch your name."

Naturally though, the injured man was too far out of it to say anything, and Logan wasn't expecting him to. As soon as the craft was airborne, though, he got onto the secured tablet that they used for these missions and let Hill know what was going on — and that they needed medical.

"You act like I don't plan for medical for all of your missions," she replied dryly.

"That's hilarious," he countered. "You're very funny. Very funny lady."

"Medical will be waiting," Hill promised with a badly hidden smile before she cut the transmission and Logan simply settled into a seat near his injured, _unauthorized_ cargo.

….

 _July 8_

 _District Eleven_

…..

It was the second time in two days that Ororo had been sent to District Eleven, but this time, she would be on the ground. Coulson had promised that they were getting the captured rebels from their last mission freed, and Ororo's team was in charge of getting them relocated, since their identities had likely been compromised at this point anyway.

It was a simple enough job — she, Carol, and Cassie simply had to shepherd people into the large transport Carol would fly out to Nine, which was wide enough and big enough that they would be able to hide their friends until the rebellion could come out in the open.

Still, Ororo couldn't help but feel a little antsy. She was sure she knew some of the rebels in Eleven; after all, half of her "brothers" and "sisters" back home went on to be rebels after they got old enough to leave. And as she and Cassie approached the outskirts of where the rebels were being held, she couldn't help hoping to see a friendly face… or hoping not to see a friendly face, depending on what the Sentinels had done to the captured rebels.

The two young Tahiti operatives crouched by their hiding spot, and Ororo was the one to spot the black-clad operative going into the holding area. They both knew that no Tahiti operatives besides the three of them were scheduled to come to Eleven, so they weren't sure who this player was. But he was wearing a similar kind of black mission wear as they were — right down to the covered face — so they watched as he went to work, disappearing inside for a few minutes before Cassie spotted the first of the rebels making a break for the treeline.

"Go time," Cassie said, nudging Ororo, and the two girls ran quickly through the shadows to find that first rebel and make sure they got the rest of them; the last thing they wanted was to let any of them get recaptured trying to get back home now that they'd been compromised.

Of course, Coulson couldn't have picked a better team to talk to amped-up former captives, because as soon as Cassie called out a warm, "It's okay; we're on your side," the group of rebels seemed to be totally disarmed. After all, even with the mask on, they could clearly hear how young Cassie was.

"We're relocating you," Ororo explained once the whole group of them had gathered. "And we've got a medic on our transport, so if anyone here needs help, don't be a hero."

A couple of them looked put off by that for a moment, but it seemed to shift to suspicion quickly. "Was that your guy that went in there? Because he took off with the one guy that really _did_ need some medical intervention."

Cassie and Ororo glanced at each other. "Yeah, he was on our side," Cassie said quietly. "But he's... the get in and get out guy. We're batting cleanup, more or less," she added, hoping that she was right and that she wasn't outright lying to these guys — she would have to ask Coulson when they got back.

"So you guys didn't help get him past the guards?" another one asked with a little frown.

"Nope," Cassie said, though now she was starting to smile behind her mask. "He's just that good." She had no idea who this guy was, but she liked him already — he was giving them a good rep just by association, and she wasn't above trading on it.

"Let's get going then before the Sentinels regroup," one of the older ones said. "The head guy being this quiet for this long can't be good."

"Just follow us, and stick close," Ororo said with a little nod, and both the girls and the rebels fell silent as they slipped through the shadows, away from the scrambling Sentinels.

Carol was waiting for them when they arrived, the transport prepped for takeoff. That was the other advantage to having the three of them on one team — all three knew how to pilot, so Cassie was the one to take the stick as Carol started to triage the incoming rebels, patching up the cases that needed the most attention first.

It was a long enough flight to Nine that Carol was more or less finished by the time Cassie set them down, and Ororo had seen every one of their faces and determined that she didn't know any of them more than having seen one or two of them around the district on occasion.

"We'll make sure to send your buddy once we get back to base and he's stable," Carol promised the guy she had just finished patching up.

"Good, he's a good guy. Best tinkerer we've ever had. I'd hate to lose him," the guy told her.

"I'll make sure to send him," Carol promised. "What's his name? I'll tell him you were looking out for him."

"Just ask for Forge," the guy said as Carol helped him to his feet — and Ororo, who had been ushering rebels out of the transport, couldn't help but freeze on hearing it.

To her credit, she didn't say anything as the rebels thanked the girls once more for the lift, but it hadn't escaped Carol's notice, and the older girl frowned Ororo's way for a moment with her head tipped to one side once the transport door was closed. "What's wrong?"

"Just fly fast," Ororo told her. "He's a friend."

Carol's mask didn't allow her to give away too much, so simply nodded, taking over the stick from Cassie, since of the three of them, Carol was the fastest pilot.

Still, even with as fast as Carol flew, Forge had gone with that elite guy straight back to the Capitol, and they'd had to stop off in Nine. So when Ororo came rushing out of the transport and went right to Coulson to demand to know where the rebel who needed medical attention had gone, a very surprised Coulson could only hold up both hands.

"We've got him in surgery right now," he told Ororo, though she only looked more upset on hearing that he'd been so badly hurt. "Friend of yours?" he asked, this time in a much softer and gentler tone.

"My very best," she replied, wide-eyed.

Coulson's expression turned even softer, and he took Ororo almost under his arm as he turned with her. "I'll make sure to have any updates on his condition sent directly to me. You can wait in my office until he's through it if you'd like," he told her.

"Yes, thank you," she said, all but rushing to get to his office to wait.

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

Aside from the mission he'd run with Natasha running support for Victor Creed's _team_ , of all things, Peter hadn't really been far from the rec room in the Tahiti Wing since Gwen's name was pulled. And since the Games started, he simply hadn't _left_ , except for meals and bathroom breaks, and even then, only when he was fairly sure Gwen wasn't in immediate danger. _And_ only when Kurt was there too so he could tell Peter if he'd missed everything.

Kurt was also a regular fixture, though he and Kate were watching in one of the other rooms together, since Kate also had two friends in the fight, and she and Cassie had nearly lost it when Billy almost died in the bloodbath. The two girls were vocal Games-watchers, so Kurt kept them in a different room and poked in to watch with Peter when he wanted a more somber, quiet atmosphere.

For the time being, though, Cassie was gone on a mission, so Kurt was watching with Kate, loathe to leave her alone in case something happened to her friends — and in the Games, that was a possibility at any given moment. Not to mention the fact that Kurt… hadn't taken it well watching Kitty's quiet tears over her district partner. For as much as he was trying to take care of Peter and the girls, he also had a friend in the fight. He didn't need to be far from Kate's quiet snuggles and kisses, not right now.

Wade had apparently decided to give Kurt a hand in taking care of the various Game-watchers. The second he saw that Peter was alone in the rec room, he'd parked himself on the couch and seemed pretty determined to stay for the duration.

"No, no, make yourself at home," Peter muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his attention on the screen in front of him as he watched Gwen and Miles teasing each other back and forth and tried not to feel to jealous — or feel to bad about feeling jealous.

Wade shook his head lightly. "Come on, Spidey, if you're like this all Games, you'll give yourself a coronary by night three." He rested his hands on Peter's shoulders and started trying to give him his interpretation of a shoulder rub, pinching his shoulders hard with both hands. "Ooh, you do carry a lot of tension, don't you?"

Peter ducked down and tried to get away. "Ouch — you lunatic. What … that's not helping!"

"It would be if you just relaxed and went with it, but you are _fighting_ me, lover."

"That figures. Cassie leaves for five minutes and you fall for the next pretty face," Peter grumbled.

"You've got such a dreamy figure, I didn't have any choice. So girlish."

"Shut up, Wade," Peter grumped, falling back against the couch and trying to wave off Wade's attention as best he could with half an eye on the screen.

"No no, you should not be alone right now. You need physical reassurance that someone _cares_ ," Wade said as he gave Peter a side hug that Peter simply couldn't escape this time.

When Peter found that he was more or less trapped, he finally let out a very long sigh. "Look, I'm just fine. Go hug Kurt — he's the one who was moping all day after Kitty was so upset."

"I would, but he's attached already. Well. Not quite _attached._ But close enough to it."

"No, no, attached sounds about right for them," Peter said with a small smirk. "If the Games weren't so… you know… this would probably be the time for me to point out this is the one year anniversary of me _totally calling that_ , too."

"You need witnesses to corroborate that claim, Mr. Spidey Pants."

"I have a tape and everything. The whole of Marvel saw me totally call it," Peter pointed out. "Just 'cause I didn't say anything _to_ them…"

"So …. It doesn't count," Wade argued.

"Closest I can get, considering I was _dead_ when they sealed the deal, more or less," Peter argued right back. "And Logan will back me up when he joins us."

"Yeah, you got plans for that? Gonna murder him just to complete your matched set?"

"No — and that's not me saying someone else should do it either," Peter said quickly. "So don't get any ideas, murder panda."

Wade grinned widely at that and leaned forward to give Peter his best almost-purr. "If you change your mind … you know where I am. All the time. Late at night. _Alone_."

"We'll just get him on our team when we get Gwen too," Peter decided. "You know, when we start incorporating more victors."

"I like that plan. It's a good plan," Wade agreed, settling in with a deep sigh. "Think she can do it without killing anyone? Be like ol' Charlie?"

"If anyone can do that, it's Gwen. She's the smartest person I know," Peter said with a firm, decisive nod and a tone that was simply not to be argued with.

"Then you can look forward to my remarks at your nuptials," Wade decided.

Peter goggled at Wade for a moment. "O-kay. That… you skipped ahead about nine thousand steps there, Wade."

"Oh come on, you act like she's not going to just … melt all over the place when she sees you again. It'll be worse than when Kart was created." He brought both hands together in front of Peter's face, and when they met, he made little explosion sounds. "Magical."

"I dunno, Wade. It's been a year…"

"A year of her _pining._ "

"I think you have your spiders mixed up. That was definitely me who was doing that. Gwen… Gwen doesn't _pine_ , I'm pretty sure," Peter said, shaking his head with a small frown.

"Two-way street, princess," he said. "She was _so_ pining. Only thing missing was the widow's walk."

Peter rolled his eyes at that one. "You're so dramatic."

"You love it," Wade replied before he leaned forward and kissed Peter on the cheek.

Peter shook his head and pushed Wade back by the shoulders. "Shouldn't you be at the hangar? The girls should be back soon."

"Oh, they won't be back that quick. It wasn't just a down and back. They had to stop off in another district. You've got me for a little while." Wade paused and made a little noise as if he was weighing it out. "Aaaaaaand I promised that I'd keep you company until your other Awesomes can spell me."

"Oh great. You're never going to leave," Peter said with as straight a face as he could manage. "Those two aren't leaving anytime soon."

"Ma-aybe," he admitted. "But I told them that you hadn't eaten and they needed to feed the spider."

"You what?" Peter turned to face Wade and looked slightly betrayed. "You can't tell that to _Kate_. She'll… she'll try to force-feed me or something just because she thinks it's funny."

"She did mention something about an airplane …"

"She's ridiculous. I'm the oldest and they act like… gah."

"No, darling, I'm the oldest. You keep forgetting that," Wade said as he patted Peter's cheek affectionately.

"I'm the oldest awesome without Logan around," Peter clarified.

"Oh. well. That's different," Wade said before he paused for a moment. "Hey! Does that mean you don't want me in your awesomes?"

"Didn't Kate give you the speech? It has to be unanimous. Logan's gotta okay you," Peter said with a widening smirk.

"But … he … hasn't even _been_ an Awesome for … almost a year! He should be out by default!"

"That doesn't count; that's Fury's fault," Peter pointed out, starting to grin as Wade got more and more dramatic about his pouting.

"But that's just not _fair!_ "

"Take it up with the Kart committee," Peter said.

"That'll never work my way," he pouted. "Unless…. I tell them it was your idea." He grinned widely and got to his feet. "Yeah. It was all Peter's idea."

"What? Wait, no!"

"Too late! You said it!"

"I did not!" Peter scrambled to his feet too.

"You did! No take-sie back-sies!" Wade was edging toward the door, grinning like a fool.

"Wade!" Peter rushed over, but Wade slipped away from him, cackling madly all the way down the hall — and having definitely succeeded in distracting Peter from the Games.

* * *

The only clue that anyone currently occupied the main Tahiti training room was the echoing sound of dull thumps that resonated even through the closed door. Sinthea had been sure to leave the lights off, wanting to avoid any sort of confrontation from either tributes or agents. As it stood now, she remained perfectly content, if the state of grieving she occupied could be called that, to hit the punching bag currently hanging a foot from her fists.

Her silent tears also appreciated the lack of light. No one wanted to see _those_. Least of all Sin herself. Sin hadn't cried at the news of Grandma Scarbo's death, and half of her mind kept saying that no one deserved tears. Yet if anyone in this world deserved, warranted tears, Brock Rumlow was it.

Sin threw a huge swing at the punching bag which hung before her, rattling the chains that held it fast above. With a second punch, the bag began to rock harder. The sounds echoed through the gym and seemed to make the doors rattle as well. Part of her wanted to take off the protective hand wraps and treat this like a real fight, but she knew injuring herself was a one-way ticket to trouble.

"Idiot going and getting himself killed," she seethed aloud, landing two more blows. "Idiot was supposed to _win_."

"Lots of idiots are supposed to win." The soft, deep voice came out of the shadows and startled her, only for a moment. "Lots of smart people, too. We can't have everything." Even in the dark, she knew it was her district partner standing some ten feet away. "Are you winning against the bag? It looks ready to give up." He made no attempt to move closer to her, or to turn on any lights. You didn't become close to Sinthea Schmidt by doing things like that. You became close just by being around.

"What are you doing here, Bruce?" she muttered, half angrily, half in defeat. She knew she wouldn't be rid of her district partner too easily. "You all should know by now — no one should be around me when I'm angry."

"Yes, I'm petrified, Sin. You're a terror." She could almost see his grin in the dark before he spoke more seriously. "Just wanted to make sure you're still in one piece."

She scrunched up her face and swung another massive punch-kick combo at the bag. She knew her father probably felt just as angry as she, but for a different reason. Johann Schmidt had wanted a win for pride. But not Sinthea. Sin had needed a win so Crossbones didn't have to go through the same horrors of death and reanimation as she had.

Still, this idea of reanimation did provide some small comfort. If Crossbones was placed anywhere, it would be on a strike team, not in a lab. Sin nearly laughed at the thought of Brock trying to do science.

Finally, she spoke again. "I'm in one piece. Stupid idiot up there isn't. But I suppose the Gamemakers will see to that soon enough."

A quiet sigh came from his general direction. "Look at it this way: you'll both have gone through it. Does it stink to high heaven? Yes. But you'll have yet another shared experience. And we've gotten the process down so that there is even less trouble with it… I'm sure he'll be okay, Sin."

"Shared experiences aren't important when that shared experience is being slaughtered and brought back," she muttered to herself for a moment, almost incoherently.

Bruce moved in the dark, and his voice was closer, more intense. "I saw you dead, Sin. I was there. I saw you broken, and not just on a screen." His tone had become tight, more emotional. "You were so cold…" A deep breath shuddered in the gym before he spoke again. "Seeing you brought back was a gift."

Her face grew tight, her eyes scrunched closed, as she remembered the moment Ultron had come stomping down the sewer system, the moment his cold, metal hand had gripped her throat. Her last thoughts had been for Crossbones. But in recent days, the pain of those memories had been getting worse. She decided to cover it up with a smirk.

"I'm sure it was tough, I guess… Most people wanted rid of me, like Tony." She laughed. "Not that I blame him." With a pause, Sin shook her head, switching subjects from that very uncomfortable one. "At least here I can keep his ass out of trouble."

Bruce hesitated for only a moment before going with her change of tone. "I'm sure he'll need it. Amazing he's made it this far without you keeping an eye on him…"

She let out a harsh laugh, almost a combination of real humor and a bit of sadness. "That boy is the definition of trouble. Can't do anything without me. Except make more trouble — that he can do."

"I can see why you like him so much." The phrase hung in the air for a moment, and Bruce wondered if he'd stepped in it and backpedalled. "I mean, it seems like…"

"He's alright," she muttered. "We'll see where we stand once he's, you know, not dead."

Banner couldn't help the laugh that barked out into the dark. "Yeah, that. That'll probably help." He paused and sounded a bit more like an older brother when he went on. "But remember, Sin, he's been without you — without seeing you — for a long time. He thinks you're dead. So it's going to be a bit of a shock if he's… ah… moved on at all." He frowned at himself, shuffling his feet against the mats. "I just don't want you to get hurt," he said quietly.

It was Sin's turn to laugh. "Yeah, if I found out that giant jerk got a girl while I was gone, I'd congratulate him myself." She looked straight at Bruce, her eyes having long adjusted to the dark, and she shook her head. "All I want is my friend back. And as you said, shared experience and all that crap, maybe that'll help him." Then, she swung straight at the punching bag again. "Still, a few good punches in the face could also help speed up the process."

"It might." He grinned at her and stepped up to the bag, taking position behind it. "Listen, I'll hold first. I haven't punched anything today yet either, and I could use a little hitting myself, if that's okay with you."

Sin smirked and shook her head, holding her hands up in defeat. "Alright. Don't say I didn't warn you that this girl is going to kick your ass."

"Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last… go."

The muffled thumps of the attack on the punching bag sounded even outside the door, so passersby occasionally stopped and tried to see into the dark room. But Sinthea just continued, uninterrupted, her assault on the innocent bag. Only two men in the entire world made Sin not only not uncomfortable, but even slightly more comforted. One was now dead, but the other held the bag fast. And she was alright with that.


	23. You Might Lose More Than an Arm

**Chapter 23: You Might Lose More Than An Arm**

* * *

 _July 9: Day Three of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

The one flaw in Billy's plan to collect water was the fact that the water collecting had to be done at night — and that was the only time that they could move without being oppressed by the heat. So, by Billy's reckoning, he and American hadn't traveled very far from the Tesseract, not as far as they could have, anyway. He knew America was aware of that fact from the way she was constantly on edge and seemed to _expect_ something awful to happen at any given moment, too.

He felt bad that she felt like she had to watch out for him. He was just fine on his own; hadn't he been the one to figure out how to conserve water and how to _survive_? Just because he wasn't good at bashing people to death…

He shook his head. It was early morning now, and they had found a good place to hide so that Billy could set up his water at what he was assuming was around midnight the previous night. Now that it was morning, he had slipped outside to check on the tarp and pull it inside before the sun could get too high. The last thing they needed was for any of their precious water to evaporate on them because they left it out too long.

He had just screwed the cap on the water bottle when he felt the change in temperature that was a shadow passing over him, and when he glanced up, _knowing_ there wasn't a cloud in the sky, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "America?" he asked tentatively — and then again, louder, when there was no reassuring answer.

Billy didn't have much of a warning besides that passing shadow before the new player struck, rushing forward with a long, thin blade drawn. Yuriko had likely been swinging to cut his head clean off, but Billy instinctively raised his arm in defense, and while he hadn't been decapitated, it _hurt_.

He cried out, holding his arm. He was already losing plenty of blood from just the one hit, and what's more, she must have broken something, because it _hurt_ , so much that it was hard to pay attention to the crazy lady trying to take his head off, though that was definitely something he should be paying attention to.

Thankfully for Billy, his loud shout had been enough to get America up and rushing out of their hidden cave, hardly even pausing before she barrelled right into Yuriko and knocked her over, managing to bash her in the side hard enough to loosen her grip on her sword. But as America moved to kick it out of her grasp, Yuriko gritted her teeth and returned with a hard hit in the center of America's stomach that had her gasping.

America was _furious_ , and it showed as she sidestepped Yuriko's sword swipe and bared her teeth, both fists raised. The brass knuckles glinted for just a moment in the desert sun before she bashed Yuriko once more, and the dark-haired girl returned the favor by cracking America across the face with the hilt of her sword, unable to get enough movement for a full swing with America inches from her face like that.

America responded with a headbut that left both of them bleeding from the face, though as America wound up for another hit, she heard a little whimpering noise that stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over at where Billy was curled in on himself, holding his arm — by that point completely unaware of anything else that was happening around him. He was pale and had his eyes closed, and he did _not_ look good.

Yuriko moved to take advantage of America's distraction while America hesitated over Billy's expression, and she would have run her through if her blade hadn't met, very suddenly, with a mace.

America spun, surprised, but she wasn't going to question it when she saw the boy from Five step in to fight Yuriko. They could kill each other for all she cared, as long as it freed her up to help Billy.

She rushed over to where her friend was and had to frown at how much blood he had already lost. The wound was substantial, but it didn't look like he'd broken anything… But that little witch must have done something, maybe poisoned the sword, she wasn't sure, because the color Billy was turning… it wasn't good.

She didn't have time to patch him up properly, not with the fight as close as it was, and she kept half an eye on the tributes from Five and Ten as the desert air rang with the metallic clang of a mace and a sword meeting repeatedly, carefully pulling Billy into what little shade she could find before she took stock of him.

"Come on, stay with me, you idiot," she muttered to Billy under her breath as she grabbed every single strip of fabric she had torn from her pants at the start of the Games and very quickly packed the fabric around his arm. She crouched down to pick him up, careful to keep his injured arm against her so that she was putting pressure on the fabric even when she had her hands full carrying him, and when he whimpered, she shushed him and looked downright distraught.

The boy from Five cried out when Yuriko managed to get past his defense and struck a glancing blow, not enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to hurt, and America paused despite herself. He hadn't turned the sicky gray color Billy had. Instead, redoubled his efforts to take Yuriko down.

So why was Billy hurt and not the boy from Five?

"Let's get out of here," she muttered to Billy, his pack over her shoulder as she took off across the desert, not too concerned with finding another hiding place as she was with putting distance between herself and the fight — and with finding someplace she could better dress Billy's arm.

* * *

Bucky kept Yuriko's attention on him for a little while longer — at least until America was no longer visible across the valley — before he tried to disengage. He wasn't actually sure he could beat Yuriko, if he was being honest, and he had really only stepped in because he'd heard the boy from Twelve in obvious misery and wasn't about to let one of the Tens make the situation any _worse_.

But when Yuriko noticed the change in tactic, she curled her lip at him. "Losing your nerve?" she half hissed out.

"Just don't feel like wasting my time here," he shot back, catching the sword with the edge of his mace only a few inches from his chest. Yeah, it was definitely time to leave. That was too close, and he knew it.

"But we're just getting started," she replied as she made a lunge for him.

He sidestepped her — but only just. When she passed him by he was quick to swing the mace around in her direction to keep her from spinning around to stab him on a backswing. The mace made contact with her left shoulder with a terrible crack that was only rivaled by the scream she let out immediately afterward.

Bucky's eyes widened, and he very quickly backed away as she swung out half blindly with her sword arm. He didn't know quite what he'd done, but it sounded painful… He didn't think he could do it again, or even get close to her again, either.

She was furious, and clearly hurt, and by the way her breath was heaving, it was clear she wasn't sure how to handle it either. And miraculously for Bucky, she simply started to back away from him, breathing heavily through gritted teeth as she held her sword up between them.

He didn't think of the pithy parting comment until she was out of earshot, and as he turned toward the desert cliffs to try and find someone else, he muttered to himself, "Yeah. If I find you trying to pick on someone small and defenseless again, I'll break the other shoulder."

* * *

America hadn't taken Billy too far, though she had found shade, and the way the cliff had been shaped by wind and sand, any other tributes could only see the little corner if they were almost on top of it. It would have to do for now, because she didn't think Billy could stand much more movement, and when she heard the terrible scream from Yuriko, she smiled to herself… until there wasn't a cannon to follow it up.

She kept her gaze up and her ears peeled for a while longer, but when there was still no cannon, she let out a breath and turned her attention back to Billy as she did what she could to wrap up his arm and keep him from bleeding much more.

"Black Bolt, if you're watching, now would be a _great_ time to send me a parachute," America muttered, though she didn't really _expect_ anything. She didn't know what he could get her besides some miracle medicine or something. Sewing kit, maybe. "Bubble wrap would be great," she grumbled as she finished her work and leaned back. She was covered in Billy's blood, but she didn't seem to notice it at all as she watched one of her best friends curled in on himself, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his arm was patched.

It took her a few long moments to come down from the adrenaline of everything that happened, but when she did, when she really started to go over everything that had happened in her head… she started to swear under her breath.

It hadn't been Yuriko. She was an idiot — she should have realized it the second she saw that it was Billy's _left_ arm. That's where they'd put the trackers, the ones with the poison. Whatever they had used to hold that stuff, it must not have been able to stand up to a serious blow like that.

"Should've ripped it out while I was in there," America muttered to herself, gently rearranging Billy to try to get him more comfortable, though at this point, she was wary of going back in to do just that and risk him losing even _more_ blood. As it was, in the state he was in, she didn't think she could get him to drink anything, but he would need to replace everything he'd lost. If he didn't stop shaking…. She'd start forcing water down his throat if she had to.

For the time being, though, she would just sit with him. She didn't know how else to combat poison, not when she didn't know what they'd _done_. She would sit, and she would ignore the growing rage in the pit of her stomach that wanted so badly to scream at the sky and point out to all of Marvel that if there hadn't been a tracker in Billy's arm, he wouldn't be this bad off. He'd have a better chance.

He still had a chance. She wasn't saying he was out. No, he was going to win the Games by just sitting there and letting her kill everyone else for him, if she had to go through every single tribute left to do it. He just… had to hold on until then.

….

 _Capitol Building for the Mentors_

…..

All of the victors had been set up with tablets specifically for use in getting sponsors so that they could keep track of what they had, who wanted to give money, that sort of thing. They didn't have much of a capability beyond a basic money transfer and accounting program as well as an archaic messaging system, and yet somehow, Skye had rigged Logan's to give a little 'ding' when she sent him a message — and he knew it was her, even half asleep, because the message popped up with her face beside it.

 _Some great TV this morning. And not the Games. I've never seen Fury and Hill the same shade before_ — _they look good as a matched set_.

Logan had to smirk on seeing that, because yes, the two SHIELD big wigs had more or less matched. The debriefing after the mission to Eleven was … lively, to say the least. Neither of them cared that he'd killed the Head Sentinel. But that was about _all_ they didn't care about. Although Hill wasn't upset about the mission as a whole but more about the details themselves... Fury was. A lot.

They did, however, agree wholeheartedly that he should _not_ have brought the rebel from Eleven back to base with him, and neither of them had appreciated it when he pointed out that the guy was unconscious the whole time, and that the mission was done fast and clean — though the snarky little 'you're welcome' at the end of his sassy debrief probably didn't help his case much.

He picked up the tablet and sent his response. _It's just one of life's mysteries on how that's even possible._

But .. that was about all the time he had to himself before he had to get going. The kids in the arena would be moving again soon — midday had passed in the desert, and he hoped he hadn't missed anything _too_ vital. So, he got himself upright, cleaned up quickly, and headed back to where the victors were gathered up to watch.

He was hardly through the door of the victor's lounge before Black Bolt had taken him by the arm and pulled him aside, his eyes wide as he pressed a scrap of paper into Logan's hands that read, simply, 'I need your help'.

"Let's do it," Logan said with a nod. "What did I miss?"

Black Bolt let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, looking more upset than anything else as he tapped his arm, about where the trackers the kids had been given would be, and signed out Billy's name — most of the victors knew the alphabet, at least, and Black Bolt often used that to communicate with them.

"What do you want to get him?" Logan asked as he pulled Black Bolt into a room where the cameras were easily blocked.

 _M-e-d-i-c-i-n-e_ , Black Bolt spelled out slowly. _P-a-i-n_ , he added in explanation.

Logan looked both ways and blocked the cameras in the room from seeing his hands before he nodded and quickly signed out: _One time or a whole bottle?_

Black Bolt startled into a smile when he saw Logan signing, and his shoulders relaxed substantially as he realized that meant he didn't have to spell everything out. _Not one time,_ he signed back quickly. _The tracker broke; feeding him poison._ Black Bolt glared even at the thought of it as it was clear exactly what he thought of the whole system that had been set up.

Logan let out a slow breath and looked thoughtful for a moment. _They won't send anything to reverse it._

 _No_ , Black Bolt agreed.

"Quill too?"

 _He's next,_ Black Bolt signed, nodding quietly. _His kid helped Billy get out._

 _Then he'll be easy._

 _Yes._ Black Bolt sighed. _I can't do it on my own._

 _Don't have to._ Logan gave him a little smirk. _I'll hold him down for you._

 _No,_ Black Bolt replied, though he couldn't help but return the smirk. _You're right; he will be easy. He was mad about the poison too._

Logan nodded and stepped back to let the older man lead the way back to the other victors, and when they were back within the more public area, Black Bolt was sure to spell out his _t-h-a-n-k-s_ and look pained about how long it took before he headed over to talk with Quill.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Betsy had spent her time since the bloodbath trying to keep cool — or as cool as possible, anyhow. She'd set a few traps and managed to snag some sort of bird, though she had no idea what it was called. But it was miserable enough being alone that she decided she wanted to get into the game, if nothing else just to get the stupid Games over with.

And that was never going to happen until everyone started dropping off. She let out a deep breath and got to her feet slowly. Even in the shade, she'd managed to get a sunburn, and her hair was sticking to her neck and shoulders.

She'd tied the windbreaker around her waist and headed back toward where she thought the Tesseract was. Sore, worn, and burnt — she was ready for something, anything else that wasn't baking in the desert.

But the first sign of any other tribute wasn't at all what she had expected. Quiet conversation between another alliance, or maybe the sounds of a fight or a mutt, she had prepared for. But this guy was _whistling_ , just strolling across the desert as if it was a nice evening out for him.

She stopped and turned toward the shadow in the desert that gave away the other tribute, brushing the hair out of her face as she watched him move. "What's got you in such a chipper mood?" she called out, wondering if he'd spotted her yet.

The tall tribute from Eight turned her way with a crooked grin, facing her direction but not specifically toward her just yet. "It such a fine evenin', and such fine company," he said easily. "Ain't every day ol' Remy's in the company of a model so famous in de Capitol."

"And I've never looked worse," she said with a little laugh. "My deepest apologies."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Dat ain't your fault, _cher_. This desert doin' murder to everybody in it."

She seemed to materialize out of the shadows. "You say that now," she teased. "But you don't know how bad it is."

He turned to face her properly and broke into an honest grin. "Now, see, _cher,_ you been undersellin' your self. You look better'n fine. Moon'll be coming up right quick, and it'll just make you dat much prettier," he said.

"Moonlight hides a multitude of sins," she replied. "Almost as well as candlelight." She slid down from her spot higher up the hillside from where he stood and shot a smile his way.

"Now _dat_ is a pretty picture," Remy said with a smile to match. "Too bad we ain't got no candles out here."

She let out a little laugh, though she still kept a bit of her distance. "Have you seen anyone today?" She sounded a bit anxious about the idea of it.

"Nobody as pretty as you, _cher_ ," Remy said with a wave.

"You're a charmer," she said, still smiling. "But I'd rather listen to pretty words than wait for the next creep to come around the corner. Do you mind if I keep you company for a bit?"

"Mind?" Remy looked as if the idea was simply unthinkable. " _Cher_ , you de best company I seen in t'ree days."

"Goes both ways, Cajun," she replied before she slid down the rest of the way to the path he was on.

"Well, den. If you got a place picked out to stay, dat's fine an' good, but ol' Remy found himself a sweet lil' hidey hole 'bout a hundred yards back."

"Is it big enough for two?" she asked.

He grinned. "Jus' might be."

"Then lead the way," she replied with a smile. "The spot I had was little and barely passable."

He offered her his arm. "Don't you worry, _cher_. Dis might jes' be nice and cozy."


	24. Dark Phoenix

**Chapter 24: "Dark Phoenix"**

It was getting dark by the time Scott was nearly back to the hiding place where Clara and Kamala were. He had taken the last patrol before they would get moving again, and he was looking forward to moving on and trying to find something new after hiding from the sun all day — when he spotted the flash of something red at the top of the ridge and paused. That wasn't the kind of red that was common to the desert.

"Scott?"

He paused and relaxed his grip on the staves Clara had given him the slightest bit. If someone was going to attack him, he wasn't entirely sure they would announce themselves like that. Not to mention he was sure he recognized the voice. "I'm not a fan of hide and seek," he said carefully.

Jean let out a little breath of a laugh. "Me either; it's awful," she agreed as she came a bit closer, looking totally relaxed before she stopped short and stiffened up, glancing around the area with a small frown. "Are you alone?"

"Not exactly," he said, though he couldn't help but grin her way. "So you left the Careers?"

"I _said_ I would," she replied. "Who are you with now?"

"Come on, I'll show you," he said with an easy smile. "You're welcome to join the group."

"Oh, I don't know … that blonde district partner of yours really didn't like me very much," she said, looking a bit shy. "I should probably just … go."

"She didn't think you'd really leave the Careers, that's all; it's fine," Scott assured her, climbing up part of the ridge her way. "You shouldn't be out alone anyway, especially not if you left them behind," he added. "Are you okay? They didn't follow you or anything?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. She glanced behind herself at the way she'd come and wrapped her arms around herself at the elbows. "Would … would you help me make sure no one followed me? I don't want to lead them to your friend."

"Sure," he agreed, smiling easily as he cleared the top of the ridge. "I'm supposed to be patrolling anyway."

She grinned broadly at him. "Thanks."

But before they could head out, Clara's voice rang out. "Who's out there?" She sounded exactly opposite Jean — confident, challenging even.

"Don't worry, Clara," Scott called back. "It's just Jean — I told you she'd find us."

"I don't think you've thought this over, lover boy," she called out as she stepped out into the moonlight. "Why doesn't she come down here and sit with me?"

"We'll be right down," Scott promised. "Just gonna check and make sure no one followed her," he added as he patted Jean's arm almost without thinking about it in a consoling gesture — since she seemed a bit nervy on hearing Clara.

"Scott, that is a really dumb idea," Clara called out.

"We'll be right back," he insisted, and from where Clara was standing, she could see his head and shoulders disappear as he pulled back from the edge of the ridge and started back with Jean.

Kamala had poked her head out of their hidden cove by that point as well, curious about the half-shouted conversation, and when she saw Clara glaring up at the top of the ridge and already starting to head up after Scott, she wrinkled her nose. "What's going on?"

But before Clara could answer, the two girls were suddenly surrounded on all side of the ridge — the rest of the Careers had apparently come with Jean, and all three of them looked ready to fight.

"Scott!" Clara called out as she pushed Kamala behind herself, "They're here!"

When there was no answer from the top of the ridge, Kamala glanced up at Clara for a moment before she shakily pulled out the dagger Scott had given her. "I'll take… the idiot one," she said, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"You just try to keep from getting hurt," Clara said at nearly a growl, stepping in front of Kamala and glaring at the ambush in front of them. "You're faster than them."

Of the three Careers, Amora was the only one with much in the way of real combat training, and she had a bone to pick with Clara anyway. She unsheathed her sword, which glinted in the dimming evening light, and took a few steps forward. "Still protecting the little waif, I see," she sneered.

"Still hiding behind a forced alliance I see," Clara replied. "So much for leadership skills."

Amora bared her teeth at Clara and rushed forward, her sword drawn. Kilgrave tried to circle around toward Kamala while Amora held Clara off — but what he and Amora didn't know what that Clara was wearing the gloves Creed had sent her. What Amora had mistaken for an unarmed combatant ... was simply not the case.

Clara dodged around Amora's strike and rushed her. An instant before she made contact, Amora saw a flash of shining silver in the low light, and before she could process it …. _Schrrrrip!_ Five tear marks drew themselves across Amora's chest, ripping her wide open from the first hand full of claws. Her other hand slashed downward across the girl from Four's face, and blood simply began to pour from the tribute as she screamed in horror.

Both of the Career boys drew back on seeing what had happened to Amora, though neither of them seemed particularly inclined to help her either as the blonde sank to her knees and then fell to the ground, the blood quickly pooling around her as the sand just seemed to drink it in, pulling to moisture into the ground.

Clara didn't wait for her to react before she spun again and slashed at the girl's neck to finish the job … turning to take a ready stance to guard Kamala from whichever boy was stupid enough to try it.

But the two boys seemed to at least have a sense of self-preservation, and both of them turned tail and rushed away from the scene. They were still within sight when a loud _boom_ echoed the night, and Kamala just clutched harder to Clara's arm when the cannon went off, whispering, "That was for _her_ , right?"

"It better be," Clara muttered. "We need to go find our idiot leader."

Kamala nodded, her eyes wide as, almost as soon as the two of them started up the ridge, the anthem began to play for the night's death recap.

* * *

The darker the sky got, the more Miles started to pace, and it was agitating even Gwen as she watched him. He kept making little laps in the sand, glancing up at the sky and rubbing his arm with a growing look of dread.

There hadn't been a cannon all day, and the two of them hadn't seen any sign of any other tributes, either. Neither of them believed that the poison would be a 'random' selection, and it was clear both spiders were worried that, without a kill for the day, their happy fun-times joke camp would get hit. After all, neither of them were likely to get involved in the big, bloody battles that the Gamemakers probably wanted.

"You're making me dizzy just watching you," Gwen finally grumbled his way, which got Miles to glance up, mutter a quick apology, and sit down … though he started pacing about two minutes later when there still hadn't been a cannon.

"C'mon, c'mon…." he muttered under his breath. "What's the point of having psychos in the Careers and Ten if they're not…." He trailed off. "Oh. Man. That's not what I meant. At all," he said quickly, his eyes wide as he glanced at Gwen, one hand over his mouth. "I don't … I don't usually think things like that, I swear. I'm in camp 'No One Should Die', personally."

"I get it," she assured him, though she wasn't meeting his gaze, either. She would be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking along those same lines, wishing that someone out there would kill someone so they wouldn't have to… Even though she really didn't want some of the kids in these Games to die.

Miles resumed his pacing, glancing up at the sky intermittently before, finally, a cannon went off in the distance, and he stopped outright, staring over the top of the valley. "I heard that, right? I didn't just imagine we were saved by the bell?"

"You heard that," she agreed, looking a bit brighter herself.

He melted into a seat on the nearest rock, all his breath coming out in one big rush. "Oh man," he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face — though neither of them had time to process their relief as the parade of faces started up shortly thereafter.

"Cutting it close," Miles muttered under his breath as the anthem played, though both of them were wide-eyed when they saw that it was Amora, from Four, who had joined the fallen. By the time the sky had cleared of all the faces, Miles glanced over at Gwen and just had to shake his head. "Who the heck is killing Careers — and can we ally with them? As long as it's not crazy lady from Ten, I'm game."

"I don't know who else it would be," Gwen admitted.

"Well, that girl from Seven's pretty tough, and Twelve could probably eat Careers for breakfast if you made her mad," Miles offered. "Or… or… maybe they're killing each other off? There were a lot of them at the beginning, and there's only, what, four left?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Gwen agreed, counting them off in her head. "And all the big ones are gone. It's just … the smaller ones."

"Hey, we little guys are pretty dangerous," Miles pointed out, illustrating his point by shadow boxing the air, and she had to smile at his antics. "Seriously, I learned some pretty good moves back in the Capitol. I bet I could take on … a _smaller_ Career. Maybe. On a good day."

"Be careful what you wish for," she warned him, both eyebrows raised.

"I'm just saying, watch out for the little guys. We're not to be underestimated. Like… you and me! We could probably take on anybody if we put our minds to it."

"You don't need to convince me, Spider boy," Gwen replied.

He just grinned before he ran over and gave her a very quick side-hug. "Best alliance ever. I'm so, so glad Four died so they didn't break us up," he told her honestly, and he looked so sincere about it that she couldn't help but hug him right back.

* * *

Scott woke up with a groan, the back of his head throbbing where someone must have hit him as he pushed himself up. He was already nursing a few bumps and scrapes and bruises from having been dragged to… where was he?

It was darker than usual — the desert had plenty of moonlight even in the middle of the night, so it wasn't usually pitch black like this, but as Scott pulled himself to his feet and his eyes adjusted, he saw the tall walls on all sides of him, and his heart sank as he realized he was at the bottom of a deep, rocky pit.

"Oooh, lookit 'at, love! We've got a live target!" Trevor called out delightedly from where he was sitting far above Scott's head, at the top of the pit. "Make sure you call for your little friends real clear like, yeah?"

"Yeah, that's not happening," Scott bit out under his breath, looking around the walls for something he could use to pull himself up and mentally berating himself when he realized he didn't have the staves Clara had given him. The Careers must have taken those too.

Clara was going to kill him ... if he got out of this alive.

"Come on," Kilgrave shouted, the glee evident in his voice. "If you do a good job, we'll make this _quick_."

"I'm not going to _perform_ for you," Scott shot back, glaring up at the two Careers above him. "Where's Jean?"

The two young men shared a look and simply started to laugh. Scott glared up at them both with his chin tipped up — until the third member of the Careers arrived and Jean called down to him with what looked like a torch in her hand: "Oh, I'm right here," she almost sang out.

Scott felt his heart fall as he looked up at her. He'd been hoping she had been followed, that he hadn't been set up. But now it was impossible to ignore the fact that she had tricked him — that she was still with the Careers and he'd let her drag him here like the idiot he was. "Jean…"

But Jean wasn't smiling warmly at him, and the shy persona was completely gone. "Just do as we ask and call your little friends in. We owe them one. Or _two_."

"You know I won't do that," he said, ignoring the two boys and speaking directly to her, his tone almost pleading.

"You don't have much of a choice," she replied matter-of-factly.

He met her gaze for a long moment, but there was none of the gentleness she had shown him in the Capitol, or earlier that night. "Then you're just going to have to kill me," he said quietly. "I'm not going to play."

"Scott," she said softly, almost pitying. "That's going to happen anyhow."

"Then at least it's just me," he decided.

"No," Kilgrave called out. "They'll come looking. That little tracker of yours will find you sooner or later."

"She won't," Scott argued, running his hands over the walls as he thought he found a good handhold. "She knew it was a trap — she won't walk into a second one."

"You underestimate her," Jean said as she drew back her bow, taking aim as best she could in the dark with the flaming arrow. "No leaving before we're done now." With that, she let the arrow fly, and it all but erupted in a shower of flames nearby — though she didn't hit him.

He threw up his hands instinctively to shield his face, but when he saw how off-target she was, he nodded once to himself. It was dark enough that he could avoid her — he just had to keep moving. He didn't have much of a plan beyond getting up and out, but it was better than sitting there, and with that decided, he grabbed the handhold and started to pull himself up.

She started to walk toward him, along the rim of the pit, trying to get a bit closer. When she saw he was climbing, she quickly lit another arrow and let it fly, and though that one did get closer, it still wasn't near enough to do damage to him.

He just kept right on climbing, hand over foot, his jaw tightly clenched as he didn't risk speaking to give her a better shot at his position even as she was trying to bait him into it. He could hear her talking about how _easy_ he was to trick, how he should really just cooperate with them, how convenient it was for them to have someone they didn't have to kill until the next evening — to prevent one of them from dying to the "random" poisoning. He didn't have much of a plan beyond getting to the top, and from there… he could at least have a better leg up. Being a sitting target wasn't exactly the way he wanted to go out.

She looked livid as the boys began to rush toward the edge, ready to use his own weapons against him if he managed to breach the edge of the pit. Jean moved closer still, but this time, she took her sweet time and adjusted for where the other arrows had gone wrong.

When the flaming arrow arced across the sky, the three Careers seemed to hold their breath as they watched it burn, and when it hit, it _still_ wasn't a tag on him — but it did blow up less than a yard from his head, throwing bits of flaming napalm-like goo right into his face.

He hadn't been fast enough to shield his face, and he let out a cry as he released his hold on the wall, sliding back down to the ground as he scrubbed both hands over his face and eyes, trying to relieve the burning somehow. The worst part was that he knew he was playing into exactly what they wanted from him as he hit the ground and couldn't stop the scream when he tried to open his eyes again and see the way out — and it hurt that much more.

He grabbed two handfuls of sand and pushed his hands on his eyes. It was enough to keep the fire from spreading any worse, but the burning sensation didn't leave, and the skin around his eyes was nearly black from the extreme burns.

"I think … we can sit back and wait now, boys," Jean said. "He's not going anywhere that we can't follow, and that beast of a girl will be here soon, I'm sure. If we kill her now, that's one death for today, and we'll keep this one in our back pocket for the next time."

Scott could hear the boys at the top of the pit chuckling as if this was the best thing that had happened all day, and he gritted his teeth, furious with himself, with the whole situation … until the laughter faded and silence took its place. If he strained, he could still hear the quiet murmur of voices, but it didn't sound like they were at the top of the pit anymore.

Well …. he wasn't going to sit there and play bait for them.

Carefully, slowly, Scott pulled himself to his feet and felt along the edges of the wall until his fingers found purchase. It was a stupid, reckless idea, climbing blind, but it was the best thing he had — and with a deep breath, he started to pull himself back up the side of the pit.

* * *

 _Capitol Building for the Mentors_

* * *

While Scott was being tortured by the creepy little pack of Careers, Logan watched with his arms crossed and his jaw locked down tight. _What the hell was he doing?_ He couldn't help but let out a disbelieving huff when the redhead from One started shooting flaming arrows at the kid. _Because of course she would_. It wasn't good enough to just kill him. She wanted to drag it out.

But when she couldn't pull it off, and she didn't seem able to hit the broad side of a barn if she was standing in it, Logan narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, watching carefully to see what kind of damage the kid had going on. He didn't have to wonder too long what the prognosis was, though, when Scott was clutching dirt to the bad burns at his eyes.

And to add to Logan's irritation, the chatter in the room began as the other victors started to speculate on what kind of shape Scott was in.

"She might as well have killed him," Sam said quietly, frowning at the display from the Careers as the group of them gloated over their plan to break up the largest non-Career alliance out there.

"Even if he managed to shield his eyes… they'll be damaged," Henry frowned.

Victor Creed was chuckling to himself, but for the first time since the start of this year's Games, Logan wasn't rising to the bait, still focused on the young man trying to find his way on the screen.

"You okay?" Jess asked over his shoulder, her frown deeply settled, especially when she saw that he wasn't fighting with Creed.

"Fine," Logan said quietly. "Gotta see what he's gonna do with this."

"Does that mean you're not giving up on him?" Viper asked from across the room with a tone of sheer disbelief. "He's _dead_. That's it. He can't go any further."

He barely spared her a glance before he turned his focus back to Scott again.

"He can't last if he can't see," Rhodey had to agree, looking apologetic — seeing as his own tribute had been part of that whole mess.

"I'm not giving up on him," Logan replied, sounding totally unconcerned.

"It's a lost cause," Bobbi said, unconvinced — though as the chatter in the room was already moving toward whether or not the other two members of Scott's alliance would come for him or be able to rescue him for however long he could last after that damage, the young man on the screen had started to climb.

"He's not a lost cause until he's dead," Logan replied her way, though he didn't even look away from the screen to glare.

"Won't be long," Viper shrugged. "As soon as he reaches the top — _if_ he reaches the top — he's finished anyway."

Logan let out a slow, metered breath, largely ignoring her, though it was clear he was still waiting for something. One way or the other.

But it was a product of the Careers' overconfidence — and the fact that they were clearly thinking along the same lines as the rest of the victors, that Scott was a lost cause — that when Scott finally reached the top of the wall, no one noticed. The other three tributes were too wrapped up in building their fire and gloating together over their good plan to pay attention to the pit.

The young man seemed to hold his breath as he pulled himself over the edge, listening hard before, carefully, Scott shielded his eyes with his hands as he would have done on a bright, sunny day and quickly peered around, only keeping his eyes open long enough to see which way the Careers were before he simply couldn't anymore. He bit down hard enough to draw blood to keep from making a sound, closed his eyes again, and took in a few deep breaths before he gathered himself to head away from the gathered Careers.

Logan straightened up on seeing the motion and turned to get down to work. Scott wasn't blind. He wasn't giving up. That was all Logan needed to know — what to send him.

A few of the Capitolites looked surprised to see him out working the room, seeing as his tribute was, they all thought, a lost cause. They were waiting for him to die, really — but here Logan was, still working.

"You're collecting for the Creed girl now, right?" one of them asked, shaking his head.

"Not yet, no," Logan replied, already starting to pour on the charm. "Kid's got heart — just needs something so he can protect his eyes, and I'll bet that little redhead will be at the top of his list."

The man shook his head in pure disbelief at that. "That's a little optimistic, don't you think?"

"I'm really not much of an optimist," Logan replied. "And I wouldn't waste my time if I thought for one second I was wrong about him."

The Capitolite frowned for a moment before he laughed. "Good luck with that," he said. "If he's still around tomorrow, maybe I'll bite, but I'm not wasting my money on him."

Logan smirked and nodded his head. "I wouldn't either — not without some proof."

That seemed to draw the man's attention. "And you have proof?" he asked, one eyebrow arched.

"You said it yourself; wait until tomorrow. I'll be here," Logan replied easily. "And if he's not — then yeah … I'll be helping Clara."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow to back the right tribute, either way," the man said, looking almost smug about it as he walked off.

The story was the same for most of the people who spoke to Logan — they simply didn't think Scott would survive long. But he told them the same thing: that he wasn't collecting tonight, only making it known that he was still working for Scott and that they should wait until the next morning, when he'd be back at work.

"You really don't know when to give up, do you?" Seraph asked as she sauntered over, shaking her head.

"I've never understood that phrase," he replied with a raised eyebrow as he watched her approach.

"Personally, I'm just waiting for you to start working for Clara alone," Seraph admitted. "I _hate_ giving money to Victor Creed. I try not to if at all possible."

"So don't," Logan said with a shrug. "Plenty of other kids more deserving — and Clara's doing fine."

"I take it you have a few favorites — if Scott doesn't last, that is."

"It's tweakin' Shmidt that his girl is in the middle of my kids," he agreed. "That's _fun_. And .. a couple others."

She smiled at him and nodded. "Everyone always has a favorite. And the victors don't usually say it out loud until after the Games are done — but their favorites aren't always the ones they were assigned. Poor James doesn't know what to do with his."

"What difference does it make as long as it drags this out?" Logan asked. "That's what they want anyhow."

"But you _always_ work harder for the ones you like," she said, smirking at him. "This Scott must be something special."

He tipped his head to the screen nearby before he tipped his glass back. "He doesn't know when to quit either."

"I can see that." She watched the screen for a moment as it followed the stumbling young man trying not to make a sound to alert the Careers not too far from him. "You two share that in common." She took in a breath and settled her shoulders. "So. You're still asking for sponsorships for him?"

He nodded slowly once. "Kid's got heart."

"Mmm." She seemed to have her attention split between him and the screens as she thought it over. "I'm not sure you've convinced me. Heart is nothing if he's a sitting target. A blind boy can't win the Games."

Logan shrugged again and relaxed his body language. "He's not blind," he replied. "But it's hard to catch. Gotta watch him for when he stops and takes a minute to reorient himself."

"Functionally blind, then," she said dismissively. "A few seconds of sight won't help, and you know it. So why keep going?"

"I'm sure the lab rats can figure something out to shield his eyes," Logan said. "But I have to wait to see if he's improving at all in the morning."

"Something like that won't come cheap," Seraph pointed out. "The research funding alone… you'd have to get as many backers as Mr. Banner received last year, and that was helped by your massive — albeit _temporary_ — alliance and the spectacular win against that robot." She waved toward the screen. "This — this is not spectacular. Stirring, perhaps. But not dazzling."

"Then I guess we'll have to wait and see," he replied. "The girls'll find him. Then I'll be able to answer you better."

Seraph smiled at him and nodded thoughtfully. "I'll find you in the morning," she told him.

"I'll be here," he agreed, still looking relaxed and at ease, though he was most definitely forcing himself to look as such. He knew it was down to him to help Scott, or the other victors and sponsors were right — a blind kid didn't have much of a chance out there.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Clara was following the very obvious trail by moonlight — and it was _so_ obvious. It was as if elephants had conspired to lay a trail down, even if the drag they used was only a certain six-foot-tall, fearless _idiot._

The further they got, the closer Kamala stuck to Clara, but at least she wasn't trying to ask questions as they crept through the desert. It didn't take them too long to find the idiot Careers — though the headcount wasn't right, and it had Clara on edge as they skirted around the fire and the jovial tones that the three of them were making so much noise with. Three of them, not four — so Scott wasn't with them.

"Idiots are scared of the dark," Clara muttered to herself. "If I wasn't looking for Scott, I'd go give them a reason to be."

"Well, where is he?" Kamala whispered, her eyes wide.

"Not with them," she answered. "But he can't be dead, or there'd have been a cannon." The two girls edged around the camp until they came upon the big hole in the ground that Scott had been in — though that far away from the voices joking around near the fire, it was a lot easier to see in the dark, and they didn't miss the little rocks and crevices that covered the landscape.

"Let's look around the edge of this thing," Clara suggested. "I'm _not_ going down in there."

"I could do it," Kamala offered. "I'm not scared of small spaces — or the dark."

"You will not," Clara nearly hissed.

Kamala quickly held up both hands. "I was just… we know he's hurt. What if he's down there? You _heard_ him!" She bit her lip and pulled slightly on the end of her hair as Clara shifted slightly to look a little less sharp. She knew Kamala had been pretty shaken up when they'd heard Scott screaming — and even if she'd managed not to show it, it had shaken her up too.

She shook her head hard. "Yeah," she told the younger girl, "but I don't think he's stupid enough to lay there and feel sorry for himself, either. At least, he better not be, or I'll kick his sorry butt."

"Which… is probably why I should go," Kamala said. "Or you'll end up pounding him for being stupid."

Clara let out a sigh. "I'm not going to hit him if he's hurt," she said before she brushed her hair from her face — again. The braid had come loose, and the tie that was holding it together was broken. "I'll give him a hard time, sure …"

"You'll have to," Kamala said with a small smirk. "Or he might do something stupid again, and then where will we be?"

By that time, they had gotten to the far side of the pit, though they still couldn't see any sign of anyone at the bottom. Clara could see Kamala starting to work up the nerve to go ahead and climb down there anyway, and she was about to pull her back when both of them heard a little noise off in the distance — away from the raucous Careers. "Think that's him?" Clara asked, relieved at the timing, since she didn't want to have to deal with Kamala _and_ Scott being stubborn.

"Oh, please let it be," Kamala said, her hands clasped in front of her chin and fully stepping back from the edge of the pit, to Clara's relief.

"One way to find out, right?" Clara replied as the two of them carefully headed toward the sound — though Clara was still looking for some sign that their lost teammate had walked through there to be sure it wasn't part of the Careers' trap. Kamala kept her gaze up — watching for the boy himself — and it was by sheer luck that they heard him let out a little grunt when he accidentally knocked his shin on a rock not too far away, but around another rock formation where they wouldn't have seen him otherwise.

Kamala rushed over without hesitation and nearly tackled Scott with a hug filled with relief, though it was clearly not as happy a reunion for Scott at the moment. He went down with a muffled cry and tried to get free almost immediately, pushing Kamala back at the shoulders defensively.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked at a whisper as she reached out on seeing him scrambling, though she didn't touch his arm. "What did they do?"

It seemed to take Scott a second to get his reaction back under control — Kamala had clearly startled him — and he shook his head lightly, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, sorry," he said quickly as Kamala looked at him wide-eyed. "I didn't see you."

"What are you talking about," Clara said with almost a laugh. "You're far enough from the fire to be fine. Just open your eyes."

Scott frowned and paused for a good long time before he did — and then almost immediately closed them again, unable to quite stop the wince. "Sorry," he muttered. "I can manage it for a few seconds, but…"

" _What happened_?" Clara pressed.

"Some kind of accelerant," Scott said, letting all his breath out in a sigh. "It was on her arrows — she lit them on fire. She didn't hit me, but I got some of it on my face." He gestured with one hand as he was trying to return Kamala's hug with the other arm to make up for trying to push her off of him, though she was sitting next to him on the ground with her expression caked in worry.

Clara stared at him for a moment, leaning closer to try to see how bad it was, but even with the bright moonlight, it was hard to see the full extent — and it looked more like shadows than anything else. "We gotta get you out of here. It'll be dawn before you know it. You can't be out in the open like this."

"I figured that much out for myself, actually," Scott said.

"Yeah, but you can't see enough to get more than a couple hundred yards away from them on your own, stupid."

Scott pressed his lips together for a moment but let the comment fly as he tipped his head Clara's way. "I'm not going to argue getting out of here — especially if it takes us away from whatever trap the Careers were planning for you two." He gestured with his open hand. "You got a place in mind?"

"Anywhere but here," she said as she took a hold of Scott's arm and pulled him up to his feet. "Hold onto me. We'll get you tucked away somewhere nice and dark."

"You don't have to — the Careers are looking for you two to lure you out," Scott told her. "I'll slow you down."

"Well they really don't want to _find_ me," Clara replied. "I want to get you and Kamala tucked away, then I'll go back and see how well they can fight me, seeing as they want to try it so badly."

Kamala nodded as she took hold of Scott's other arm. "Yeah, you missed the part where she killed Amora."

"Apparently, that's my thing," Clara said with a little smile. "Killing Careers."

"You should stay with me and Kamala," Scott suggested. "If you go back alone, they'll just—"

"I'll get blood in my hair," Clara said flatly. "I promise, it'll wash out eventually."

"You two can argue about this when we're all settled, right?" Kamala asked. "I mean, it's sweet you're both so concerned about each other, but can you be sweet when we're not out in the open?"

"I can if he can," Clara said, already pulling him along. "Don't fight me; I'd hate to accidentally cut you. These claws are crazy sharp."

Scott peeked one eye open for a second and let out a little whistle. "I'll follow you until we get somewhere," he said. "And you can take those off."

"Are you listening to this guy?" Clara said at a whisper. "He's back five minutes and already setting terms."

"You're the one who promoted him to leader. I blame you," Kamala pointed out.

"I take it all back," Clara said, though she was gently steering them toward a cluster of caves that didn't look too far out.

"Yeah, but that means you'd have to call him Scott," Kamala pointed out.

"Oh no," Scott deadpanned.

"Oh, I'm _sure_ there are at least … two different things I can call him outside of Scott," Clara said with a bit of a chuckle.

"Actually, 'fearless leader' was my favorite so far," Scott admitted with a small smirk.

"Then we need to restore you to your station, fearless," Clara replied.

"And risk the blind leading the… whatever you two are?" he teased.

"Beautiful, Summers. The answer is beautiful."

"I'd say that… but for all I know, you're both all dirty and sweaty and gross," he said with a smirk.

"And yet _still_ a more welcome sight than anyone else in this godforsaken arena."

"That's entirely true," he had to agree.

The little group did indeed get to the caves as the sun started to warm the colors in the sky, and by the time they were tucked into one of the deepest, largest caves, there was no way that the Careers could have realized which way they'd gone — which meant they could finally relax.

The girls got Scott settled in, and while Kamala was trying to get him more comfortable, Clara was already digging out the first aid supplies to see what they could use to help him.

"Alright, I've got the claws off, so I promise the chances of me clawing your face off have dropped substantially," Clara said. "But .. this might sting while I clean you up."

"You can hold my hand if you want to," Kamala offered with a shy smile, and Scott couldn't help smiling her way too before he nodded.

"Can't be worse than being in that pit again," he pointed out with an attempt at a joking smile that had Kamala shaking her head as she seized one of his hands with both of hers.

"Yeah, we're going to forget about the circumstances that got you there so I don't get mad," Clara said, already getting started and very gingerly cleaning up the area around his eyes first. A lot of the skin there was quite simply dead — black and raw-looking — and she shook her head to herself as she worked. "These burns are awful, Scott."

"I didn't notice," he said straight-faced.

"Okay, smartass," she said sitting back on her heels. "I just _meant_ I don't know how much good our supplies will do you. We need … _something_."

"Yeah, don't waste it if it won't help," Scott agreed quickly.

"That is the … _ugh,_ " she slapped his arm. "That is not what I meant!" She let out a huff and narrowed her eyes at him. "It's not a waste. I'm using everything we've got, and if I have to wrestle you to the ground to make you use it — I will."

"You can't use it all on me," Scott argued, though his glare didn't have as much bite as he likely wanted it to when his eyes were screwed shut, his eyebrows pushed together.

"Watch me. Oh, _wait_. I'll need to use it first." Her tone was totally dry as she went right back to work on him.

"You and Kamala need supplies too," Scott insisted.

"Be quiet, or I'll make you be quiet," Clara said.

"Then you'll just have to waste more supplies on me," he countered.

Clara let out a sigh and shook her head. "Scott ...how can you be so smart and so stupid all at once?" she asked before she leaned forward and kissed him square on the mouth. "Now be quiet."

It worked, too — Scott was stunned completely silent, though Kamala dissolved completely into giggles when she saw his reaction. His mouth was open in an 'o' shape, and he clearly had no idea what to do with himself.

Clara finished her work a lot faster once he got quiet and quit arguing with her — and deny it all he wanted, the medicine they had in the kit really did make it feel much better; even Kamala could tell he was improving because he wasn't screwing his eyes quite so tight or wincing away from Clara as much.

She was putting the supplies back in the bag when Kamala said, "I'm not sure if it works with burns this bad, but wouldn't water help? If we can find some?"

"It would," Clara said. "At least, it would make it feel better."

"Let's look for some later today, then," Kamala decided, though almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, there was a loud _boom_ — and it wasn't a cannon blast, either.

Clara turned toward the mouth of the cave and headed forward, watching the desert outside as the first few drops of rain fell — and then, all at once, a sheet of rain simply dropped out of the sky, torrents of water pressing in on the desert. "Well, there goes my big plan to go back for those three idiots." She turned and made her way back over to Scott and dropped down carefully next to him. "I guess you're stuck with the two of us watching over you for a while, Fearless."

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed


	25. The Fall Will Kill You

**Notes: Thanks, O! We love it when we can slip in comics references ;) And yeah, Scott... has a glaring, big ol' weakness. It's darling. :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 25: "The Fall Will Kill You"**

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

Since most of the action in the Games was taking place in the evenings and early morning — and since Coulson had everyone running missions often to take advantage of the Capitol's distraction — nobody who was paying any attention to the Games was on a normal sleeping schedule.

Kate had long ago fallen asleep, sometime after the cameras had switched from following Billy and America to following the purple-haired girl from Two. The young man from Twelve was slowly suffering, the injury to his arm hurting him far more than should have been possibly from a simple cut, but America's devastation was apparently good television — so the cameras stayed on them a lot of the time during the day when most of the tributes were hiding from the sun.

Kate had been living and dying with every labored breath that Billy took, and Cassie hadn't fared much better — the little blonde was dead asleep, sprawled out in a loveseat close by, just as exhausted by her worrying as Kate was. That was their friend on the screen, after all, suffering and whimpering.

Kurt didn't even know Billy outside of the stories that Kate and Cassie had told, but just watching the young man on the screen trembling with pain was almost more than he could bear. He was so obviously hurting, and America was so obviously panicking, losing heart… it was hard to watch, and he didn't even _know_ the players.

It was draining, exhausting, emotionally devastating, so of course both girls had fallen asleep, and Kurt wasn't going to risk waking either of them by making a sound — or even moving, since Kate had fallen asleep on his shoulder, though by then, she had fallen over into something deeper, curled up with her head on his lap and her knees drawn in so she could better fit on the couch.

Which meant he couldn't move, not that he was complaining.

The Capitol cameras had followed the flirtatious alliance between Eight and Two for a while before it had switched to Kitty for just a little while, showing her finding a good hiding place up higher in the ridges, though she was still by herself, which had Kurt concerned. Alone in the arena was never good — though at least his friend in the Games wasn't suffering. He knew he had that much to be grateful for, even if he knew that Kitty couldn't be faring well after having found Alex dead so early on.

But finally, the cameras went back to Billy and America, and Kurt frowned a bit to himself, wondering if this would continue to be the case until Billy died — after all, it seemed to be the most 'interesting' thing the Capitol could focus on.

The problem was that the remote was over by where Cassie was, and he couldn't get it without disturbing Kate, so Kurt was just holding an internal debate with himself about whether it would be worth it to wake them just to keep from having to see more of this when the footage rang with the familiar chime of a silver parachute.

Kurt sat up a little straighter, his eyes wide, before a grin broke out across his face, and he gently shook Kate's arm. "Kate… Kate!"

She startled slightly and then picked her head up to look around blearily for a moment, smiling his way and then glancing at the TV — then falling into a frown as she saw that it was back to Billy. "Aren't they tired of that yet?" she asked, the bitterness clear in her voice until the camera pulled back from Billy to show that America had abandoned her vigil beside her friend temporarily to climb up to where the parachute had fallen in between some rocks nearby.

A slow grin started to spread over Kate's face, the first like it he'd seen on her face since Billy was hurt, and she threw one of the couch pillows at Cassie to wake up the younger girl as well as America reached the parachute and seemed to melt when she saw its contents.

"What is it?" Cassie asked, unable to stop the question from tumbling out of her mouth as all three of them watched the bushy-headed girl from Twelve carefully make her way back to her quivering district partner.

" _Billy," America said, crouching down beside him as she pulled out a bottle from the box marked with a big '12.' "Billy, I need you to come back to me just … just long enough to swallow something for me, okay?"_

Both Cassie and Kate glanced at each other, startled into silence as they leaned forward to watch the footage. Neither of them had seen their friend so openly emotional before, and they could hear the quiver in America's voice. And neither of them could help but be concerned on hearing it. It was a clearer indication than anything else they had seen that Billy was _not_ doing well.

 _It took a moment for Billy to take a deep and shuddering breath, but he gave the slightest nod, and that seemed to be enough for America as she gently rearranged him, the water bottle in hand as she unscrewed the lid of the bottle and shook out a single pill._

" _The bottle says one every twelve hours," America explained to him as she gently placed the round, white pill on his tongue and then gave him some water to wash it down._

 _It looked like it took a monumental effort for Billy to swallow, and America held her breath the entire time, but finally, mercifully, it seemed that Billy's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit._

 _America watched Billy for a little longer until his expression smoothed out, the pain lines lessened, and it seemed he was slipping off into a drug-induced sleep. The moment he did, America let out all the breath she had been holding, resting her forehead against Billy's side for a moment as she let her hair fall in front of her face to hide her expression._

 _When she did finally lift her head, she wasn't giving away much, though the emotion was still palpable in her voice as she looked up at the sky with a very soft,_ "Gracias."

"Pain medicine," Cassie whispered, nearly as soft as America had been, and the other two in the room glanced at her before she looked back down at her hands. "It's good for Billy in the short term, at least. He won't be hurting, but…"

"Yeah." Kate nodded as she thought she could follow Cassie's train of thought. "An antidote would have been better, if they thought he could come back from it…"

"Maybe that was all Black Bolt could get," Cassie said, glancing up with the worry evident in her gaze. "I mean, sponsors don't usually send stuff to dying tributes unless it's, like, Tony."

"And it's not like America has been winning hearts," Kate said. Kurt could see that she was trying to smirk at her friend's antics, but he could hear the obvious worry in both of their voices.

He gently bent down to kiss Kate's cheek and draw her attention. "He's not hurting. That means America can help him to eat, drink, heal. Have a little faith, _liebling_."

Kate let out a sigh but relaxed into him slightly at his words. "You're right," she murmured, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her.

"Of course I am."

"Don't push your luck. You may be cute, but you're not _that_ cute," she warned him, half teasing, and he just had to laugh at her for that one.

With Billy at least doing a little better, the girls were more relaxed — though that didn't last long when the camera switched very suddenly from Billy and America over to follow one of the Careers, the redhead from One. A sudden switch like that usually meant tributes were getting close to each other, to a fight, to danger — and since this was a Career, the three Tahiti kids in the room sat up a bit straighter, wondering who the Careers were after this time.

As they watched the fight between the Careers and the Sevens and Kamala unfolding, more of the Tahiti kids started to come in from the day's missions, from dinner, from training, that sort of thing — so that by the time the camera was following the Careers as they dropped Scott into a pit, the room was half full of former tributes.

Even some of the other members of Tahiti, the ones that hadn't been tributes themselves but were still part of the program, dropped in on occasion to watch the Games, and that was the case with Skye, who came into the room deep in conversation with Wade about how he needed to "let it go," though what it was he needed to let go, they didn't get to find out. Instead, she stopped short on seeing what was on the screen.

"What _happened_?" she asked, one hand to her mouth.

"Careers," Cassie said, though when she saw the look on Skye's face, she frowned a bit and waved her over to sit on the love seat with her to attempt a little levity: "I think they're threatened by sweet little Kamala and her alliance."

"Where…. Where are the other two?" Skye asked, still looking wide-eyed.

"On their way, I'm sure," Kurt said, also starting to fall into concern when he saw how shaken Skye looked. "Sit down, Skye," he told her gently when she still wasn't heeding Cassie's waved invitations.

She dropped onto the arm of the nearest couch rather than move much further, looking downright pale as the Careers started to taunt the young man on the screen, and even though Luke kept offering to take her out of the room as it just got worse — she hit him in the arm when he got too close with a muttered, "No, I've got to see this."

As Jean fired her arrows, Kate tried to lighten the mood by grumbling about her lack of archery skills. "She can't hit the broad side of—"

"She doesn't have to," Skye cut in before Kate could really get started. "You should have seen her in the Capitol. She set fire to half the assessment room. That's why she got a nine."

The former tributes in the room all glanced at each other at Skye's casual mention of having seen the assessment, though they all knew better than to press when she looked positively green the moment Jean got a shot close enough that Scott got a faceful of flames. It was good that the Careers left him after that, because Kurt was honestly sure that Skye wouldn't have made it any longer if she had to watch more.

He wanted to ask Skye so much. Like why she was so upset over Scott, why she was at the assessment, what was going _on_. But she looked like she might burst into tears at the slightest provocation, so the whole group of former tributes gave her a wide berth, hardly daring to speak until Scott got himself out of the pit.

"You know, if you want somewhere less crowded, Peter watches in the rec room," Steve offered quietly, the first to break the silence as he gave Skye a small, concerned frown. "The only rule there is you have to watch quietly — which is why the rest of us usually come here."

"I'm okay," Skye told him, though she did _not_ look it. "I just… how do you guys do this every year? _Knowing_ people in the Games?"

"Guess that's never really been an issue for someone from the Capitol," Luke observed, still close enough to her and looking like he might carry her out if something else happened that made her lose it.

"Which… begs the question," Kurt said, measuring his words carefully and watching her expression. "Why is it an issue for you now?"

Skye glanced up to meet Kurt's gaze, her expression totally open and honestly hurting. "A lot can change in a year," she almost whispered out at last. "I sort of… got to spend some time with Scott while I was doing field work. It was totally accidental but…" She took a deep, calming breath and glanced toward the screen. "I didn't know when I met him he was going to be reaped."

"Would it have made a difference if you had?" Kurt asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe. Maybe I would have tried to distance myself or something, because this…" She gestured at the screen. "This _sucks_."

"Welcome to our world, Skye," Kate said.

Skye tried to give Kate a little smile before she rubbed at her cheeks with the heels of her hands, clearly trying to keep from crying outright as she took in a breath. "Seriously, I leave for a few hours to deal with Capitol stuff on the other side of SHIELD and this is what I come back to. I may never leave if this keeps up," she said.

"You're always welcome around here," Cassie assured her. "And there are punching bags down the hall if you want to take a leaf out of Sin's book and take it out on something — since we can't take it out on the Capitol just yet."

"If it's alright with you guys? I think I'd just like to stay right here," Skye said, settling into a chair instead of just the arm of one. "I don't have to be anywhere for another few hours anyway."

* * *

 _July 10: Day Four of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Miles and Gwen had set up camp, as usual, toward the top of a ridge so that they could see everything in the valley below them, but nothing prepared them for the sudden surge of water as the sky unexpectedly seemed to open up and dump buckets of water on their heads, completely trashing their makeshift camp and sending them both running for better shelter.

The rain sloshed all around them as the sand and red dirt was absolutely no good for absorbing the water dumping down on them, and it made running difficult. They just couldn't keep their feet. Several times, Miles went crashing — or Gwen went crashing — and as high up as they were, it had them both panicking. A misstep here could be fatal.

Both of them had to stop and get their feet back underneath them when they reached a sturdy enough rock formation that they could hang on and catch their breath, though it didn't do much to protect them against the downpour either.

Gwen shouted something to Miles that he couldn't hear over the rain, and it wasn't until she was only a few inches away that he could make it out: "We can't stay up here! We need to go down!"

"Can't we just wait it out?" Miles asked, frowning at the edge of the ridge that had taken them most of yesterday to climb. He knew it was steep, which was why they'd picked it — hoping that other tributes wouldn't want to chance climbing up there — but now it was _terrifying_ and life-threatening and a whole lot of other things that could get him killed.

Gwen motioned around them at the torrential downpour. "If this keeps up, we'll get washed over the edge!"

Miles let out all his breath and glanced down at his feet, realizing that he had to agree. The wet sand was slippery and mushy and was starting to swirl at his ankles. And since this was the arena, they had no guarantee this was a normal storm, either. For all they knew, it was specifically targeting them to push them back toward the others — or kill them for being too far out.

He held up a hand to tell Gwen to wait, and she looked impatient for just a moment before she saw what he was doing — untying his shoes, going barefoot, and then tying the laces together around his pack so he wouldn't lose the shoes. He grinned up at her. "Better grip," he explained, moving his toes in the mud, and she grinned at him and followed his lead.

Now feeling at least slightly better prepared for the climb, the two spiders approached the edge of the ridge, glanced at each other, and then very carefully started their descent.

It wasn't easy at all. The rain made it almost impossible to see much more than what was right in front of their faces, and the rocks and crevices that had made climbing so easy on the days before were now filled with water, slick and hard to hold onto. Miles lost his footing no less than three times and lost his grip on handholds no less than four — and when he glanced over at Gwen, he couldn't help but feel jealous of how much progress she had made. She was already several yards below him.

A slightly insane part of him wanted to make it a race, but the part of him that knew he couldn't even keep from sliding around in a normal climb in this weather won out, and he just focused on putting his hands and feet to the next crevice, the next hold.

The rain wasn't letting up, either, and Miles could hardly see for how much water kept getting in his eyes, so he very nearly freaked out when he felt a hand close over his wrist — only to see that Gwen had found a small ledge to catch her breath.

"You are the spider _queen_ ," he told her fervently, grateful for the reprieve as she helped to pull him up onto the ledge with her, and he let his aching arms and hands get a break. It was much harder work climbing when he kept having to catch himself to prevent a nasty fall, and he could feel it in his every muscle.

"Well, we got a shower," Gwen said as she leaned back and tried to catch a breath. "I didn't think you could drown in the desert."

"This whole arena is full of surprises," he grumbled, tipping his head back to catch some of the rain in his mouth and grin her way. "At least now we won't be too dehydrated, right?"

"We should catch some while we can," she agreed before she reached out to get her water bottle. "Who knows how long they'll leave the water on."

"Good point," he agreed, pulling his own pack out to do the same. It was oddly satisfying watching the rain fill the water bottle as quickly as it did, and he had to grin and take a good long drink before he put his bottle back out in the rain. "Free refills."

"But likely just this once," she agreed, doing the same thing herself, though when she put her bottle back, she had to flex her hands a few times. They'd been aching and peeling all morning — and the climb certainly wasn't helping her in the least.

"How is the pink-haired spider thing going?" Miles asked, noticing her motion and looking over her shoulder at her flaky hands.

"I'll be glad to get off this ridge," Gwen replied.

Miles nodded and looked out over the edge. It looked even more daunting now that he could see how much they still had to climb down, and what's more, he could see that the sand at the bottom of the ridge was swirling, too. "Well… I guess I'm ready when you are, but … that just looks awful down there," he said, shaking his head to himself.

"Maybe we can move further along the ridge before trying to go down again," she offered. "It could be better further out."

"Let's hope so," he agreed, shouldering his pack before he gestured out at the ridge. "Lead the way, spider queen."

She nodded in agreement and shot a little smile his way before she slipped over the ledge and started to move laterally with the ridge. The ledge went on for as far as she could see, so she just stuck to it. Miles had barely copied her position when Gwen ran into trouble — and the footing she had simply washed away.

She was dangling, holding on with what little grip she had on the ledge, but even that was slipping as the water swirled around her fingertips, washing the hard sand around her fingers, eroding the ledge where she held it until it simply crumbled and gave way.

Miles tried to get to her — he really did. He was close enough to see what was happening, but he couldn't find a solid hold to get himself any closer as everything he tried was either too slick or crumbled when he tried it. He was close enough that he could see the look on her face right as the ledge gave way, and then she had disappeared from his sight, the rain and mud and rocks below him making it too hard for him to see all the way down.

He thought he heard a cannon blast in the distance, but he was actively ignoring that as he continued his descent a lot faster than he probably should have, teeth gritted against the rain as he muttered, "nope" to himself under his breath all the way down, checking every few yards to see if he could see Gwen.

"It's fine. She's fine. She found another ledge. Or a handhold. Or ... yeah, she found a root sticking out of the side of the mountain. You know. Like in adventure stories," he muttered to himself, coming up with increasingly less likely ways that Gwen had been able to stop her fall all the way up until he was about twenty feet from the bottom of the ridge and he saw the blonde hair — brighter than the deep red mud all around her.

"Oh man."

His arms and legs and hands and feet were protesting with every move, but he practically slid down the rest of the way, only slow enough to count as careful if he was really stretching the definition, before his feet hit the ground — and he _ran_ , the mud pulling at his bare feet and threatening to knock him over a few times.

The warning signs of a flash flood were blaring at him in neon — the swirling mud, the fact that Gwen's body had moved several yards from where she had fallen in the steadily-growing current. But he just kept thinking that maybe it had been thunder and not a cannon — and if Gwen was hurt, not dead, there was no way, _no way_ , he would leave her.

He skidded to a stop in the rushing mud, but about the same time he arrived, the rain just over his head stopped pounding on him, just for a moment, and he glanced up to see that a black transport was circling overhead, temporarily blocking the water every time it passed over him directly.

It was for Gwen.

"Oh man," he muttered, now suddenly afraid to touch her, his eyes wide as he felt the current of water start tugging at his knees in the dirt. He had to get out of there, and he knew it.

"Okay. Alright. Okay. I'm _going_ ," Miles said, directing his annoyance at not only the transport but the mud and, well, everything else — though he took just a few more minutes to find Gwen's backpack in the mud a few feet away from her and pick it up, glancing over his shoulder at the girl in the mud before he took off at a run, headed for shelter from the storm.

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

Peter stared blankly at the television screen in front of him as the camera followed the transport that had just taken Gwen away. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing, and he didn't think he had processed it correctly.

There was just no way Gwen was dead.

And it didn't really matter about Tahiti, did it? He knew from experience — dying wasn't something you just walked off, even if you did come back, and there was _Gwen_ on the screen, lying in the mud as the Capitol replayed Miles' reaction, though Peter muted it when Tivan started up the gleeful commentary on the end of the spider alliance. He couldn't — he _couldn't_ listen to it.

He had his hands clenched in fists at his sides and had just gathered up the nerve to march himself down to Coulson's office and demand to know how soon they'd be bringing her back. And if Coulson wasn't there, he'd find someone else. Claire or Fitzsimmons or, heck, he'd take on Essex himself if he thought the man would give him an answer on Gwen.

But he didn't make it to the door before someone on the other side flung it open, and there stood Kurt and Kate in the doorway, both of them looking upset on their friend's behalf. Kate didn't hesitate to simply fling her arms around his neck and hug him hard. She hadn't even let up her hold on him when Kurt joined her.

For a moment, Peter tried to push them off — he wanted to get to Coulson and make some demands — but when neither of them seemed about to let go anytime soon, he did his best to return the hug, and somewhere in trying to wrap his arms around both of his friends, he forgot how to remain upright and felt his knees go underneath him.

Both of them went to the floor with him, holding him that much tighter as the first disbelieving little sob escaped Peter, and then that was it — the floodgates had opened.

It didn't matter that Coulson had promised all of them that their friends would be brought back. Not right that moment anyway. They could think about that later. Later on, they could hold their breath and hope that the process worked, because as Claire had been sure to remind them all before the Games even started, it was far from a guarantee, no matter how far they had advanced with their technology and techniques.

For right now, the only truth, the only thing Peter knew for certain was that Gwen was dead, and that was really all he could focus on as he buried his face in Kurt's shoulder and both of his friends pulled him tighter, not a word spoken between the three of them.

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall


	26. Waterlogged

**(A/N): SORRY, O! It probably won't make you feel any better, but we also felt horrible writing that scene. You know that thing we do where we both stare at the screen and don't WANNA write what we're about to write?**

 **...We did that a lot in this story.**

* * *

 **Chapter 26: Waterlogged**

* * *

 _Day Four of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

After the rains had started, the first thing Clara, Scott, and Kamala did was fill their water bottle three times — draining it between them each time — and then a fourth time, bringing it back with them under the safety of their hideaway. They were deep enough in the caves that the storm was just hollow white noise above their heads, but it didn't look like it would let up anytime soon, either.

Clara had taken the bottom several inches of her shirt and torn it up to soak up the rain so they could have Scott put something on his eyes to cool the angry burns between applications of the cream. It wasn't much, but it was enough to take some of the pain away, at least.

But once they'd taken a few moments to reorient themselves and make use of the rain, and once they were settling into something like a new normal, Scott rearranged himself so he could sit in the sand for a moment, peeking his eyes open in spurts of a second or two at a time until he found something he could draw with as he started making a design of some kind.

"What are you doing now, fearless?" Clara asked.

"You said you wanted to go after the Careers," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I do," she agreed. "And I will — once it stops raining."

"You shouldn't go in blindly," he said, with a wry sort of smile.

"Is that a pun?" she asked with a smirk.

"I honestly didn't mean it to be, but sure, it is now," he said as he just kept drawing in spurts of little peeks out from underneath the fabric of her shirt.

"So … what is this? Your battle plan?"

"Just trying to draw the layout of their camp while I can still remember it," he said. "I got a few good looks while I was trying to sneak out. They had a few caves and crevices, so I doubt they'll leave their shelter there while it's raining."

"You're a really crummy artist," Kamala said, peering over Scott's shoulder.

"It's got to be harder to do when you can't look at your work," Clara said. "Like this squiggle here … that looks like a porcupine with a bad hair day."

"Thanks, both of you. That's really helpful," Scott said dryly before he shook his head with a little sigh. "Actually, I'm not half bad usually. I do the carving and the intricate design work back home."

"I know," Clara said, resting one hand on his shoulder. "I'm just teasing you a little."

"I know. That's a constant state of being for you," he replied before he peeked one eye open and then leaned back, apparently finished.

"It's a kind of affectionate thing," Clara said, shaking her head. "I can't believe you've lived your whole life in Seven and _not_ figured that out yet."

"The people I'm used to dealing with in Seven are shorter than you and show their affection by screaming and tackling you, so…" He smirked her way. "Want me to explain my very crummy drawing?"

"Please, yes. And point out the girl that's going to get her face rearranged while you're at it."

He tipped his head her way for a second at that before he nodded slowly. "I didn't get too much of a look, mind you, so this isn't totally accurate. I was more or less blind at the time."

"It's the best thing we've got, so it'll be better than nothing," she assured him as she dropped down to sit next to him.

He nodded. "Alright, well, the Ones stick close together on the east side, toward the mountains," he explained, gesturing at part of his drawing, and Clara had to admit, it did sort of look like he'd drawn mountains now that she had a name for them. "He's got my staves, by the way. Or — your staves. And she's got arrows and something like napalm to light them."

"I'll make sure she takes a bath in it," Clara said. "On my way to get your staves back."

Scott quirked an eyebrow at her and almost smiled before he gestured back at the drawing. "The Three guy actually has plenty of weapons; he just doesn't use them. I saw a few daggers and what I _think_ might have been a set of throwing stars, but I didn't get a good enough look to know for sure."

"Got it," she said with a nod, thinking 'zig zag, dodge, and weave' as she memorized his makeshift map.

"It's just the three of them, though. I don't know what happened to Two's girl, but unless you've seen her in the sky, she's either not with the Careers or really well-hidden." He paused. "She wasn't there for the fire or any of the taunting."

"No, she hasn't been up in the sky yet," Kamala replied on Scott's other side.

"Then she might not be with them at all," Scott decided. "Maybe after her brother…" He sighed, his shoulders dropped slightly for only a moment before he cleared his throat. "Anyway, there's three different opening on the north side of the ridge they've camped out near, and I don't know which one they'd use for shelter, but only three look big enough to fit people. And that pit wasn't the only one in the area, ether — there are a lot of openings in the ground. Some of them will sneak up on you if you can't see them," he added ruefully.

"They look like big black spots in the moonlight," Clara offered. "If you could have seen properly, you'd have gotten that. But with a quick glance … "

"Okay, so won't be a problem for you two. Got it," Scott said with a nod. He leaned back and tipped his head up toward the ceiling for a moment. "Jean's the one running things," he said at last, this time in a softer tone. "I'm sure Kilgrave _thinks_ he is, but they were taking their cues from her."

"She's at the top of my list anyhow," Clara nearly growled.

"I want to get Kilgrave," Kamala spoke up, and when Clara turned her way, she looked determined. "He was trying to pick on me, and I'm pretty sure it's because I'm the smallest. And that bugs me."

"It was definitely because you're the smallest," Scott had to agree, his head still tipped back. "He's a coward."

"I'm not so sure about the other one," Clara admitted.

"His happy fun-times schtick is absolutely an act," Scott told her, a glare settling over his expression with his mouth drawn tight. "He had no problem being part of what went down last night."

"Then I'll head after him when I'm through with the redhead — if Kamala doesn't need back up."

"I might," Kamala admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm not really… I can throw him, but I don't know if I can… you know."

"Nobody's asking you to kill anyone, Kamala," Scott assured her. "You only have to do as much as you're comfortable with."

"I'll take care of anyone stupid enough to push you for more," Clara promised.

"And I'll help patch you up afterwards when you end up fighting all three of them at the rate you're going," Scott said, shaking his head at her.

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears," she said, all but leaning against him.

"Traps," Kamala offered suddenly, and both of the older kids turned to face her. "He can help me make traps! You know — for when they try to run away from our terrifying claw-wielder?"

"That's a great idea," Clara said, nodding in agreement. "I'll funnel them into the traps."

"Did you have any in mind in particular?" Scott asked Kamala, and she broke into a huge grin.

"Oh, sure. We've got plenty of rope to work with," she told him, already starting to pull out supplies as she shoved the rope into his hands. "Just start trying knots where I tell you to, okay?"

He grinned and nodded. "That I can do."

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

Logan was relieved to see that Scott had gotten himself pulled together. The kid's timing was perfect. He was just getting into his coffee as it came over the airwaves that the kid had a plan. Even if he wasn't able to go down to enact it himself, he was still strategizing and figuring out how to strike back.

This would make everything go easier.

Logan let out a breath, realizing that his bluff was working out — by some miracle. All he had to do was keep the cool 'told you' attitude and hope that nothing happened in the meantime to screw Scott up any worse.

He took his time getting down to where the victors were grifting. His intention was to be sure to look as confident in Scott as he could, and that wouldn't happen if he rushed in. When he did get down there, though — he hadn't been expecting there to actually be people _waiting._

He recognized a few of them as people he had spoken to last night when everything had gone down, and one in particular looked downright excited to see him, rushing over with a grin on her face as she asked in a rush, "Can I give you money for Kamala? Please?"

He put on a little smile and nodded. "Absolutely," he agreed. "What do you think she needs?"

"Well, they have everything they need but food — maybe that?" the woman offered. "I'm not sure — I'm sure you know better than I do."

"I'm sure that'd be appreciated," Logan said with a nod. "I'll see to it that she gets whatever she needs most."

"Thank you!" The woman beamed at him as she gave him her card. "I didn't want to have to talk to Schmidt."

"No one does," he said offhandedly as he set her up.

"I just think it's so great what you're doing for those kids," she said, taking her card back once he had run it for her. "Thanks!" With that, she was off, headed for Black Bolt next.

He had to smirk a bit as she headed off. It wasn't for Scott, but pissing off Schmidt was just about as good, and the donation she'd given him for Kamala guaranteed that the girl would get a parachute when Logan knew she wasn't going to get a thing from her actual mentor.

Jessica and Viper both had a decent flock of potential sponsors, since their two tributes had teamed up; apparently, the people watching thought the alliance between Remy and Betsy was pure gold. But to Logan's surprise, the majority of the sponsors were heading his way. The alliance between the Sevens and Kamala was the biggest one out there besides the Careers, and, with the Careers splintering and failing to perform, the group was clearly the favorite as well — even if most of the donations were still coming in for Clara.

The first Capitolite to approach Logan for Scott was actually the guy he had talked to the previous night, the one who had been unconvinced that Scott would even last the night, and he looked genuinely shocked about how things had turned out.

"Well," he said, shaking his head. "Never let it be said that I couldn't admit to being wrong. Looks like you were right about that kid after all."

"He's tougher than he looks," Logan replied.

"So — what are you asking for?" the man asked.

"R&D already has something worked up for him — or designed," Logan said as he handed over his tablet. "I'm not expecting anyone to put in too much."

The man let out a low whistle on seeing his goal. "Good luck, mate," he muttered before he made his donation and headed off, shaking his head and muttering something about 'high ambitions.'

Most of the people Logan talked to had similar reactions. They wanted to help, but helping a half-blind kid in the Games was more than they could fix with the kind of sponsorships they were used to giving this early in the Games. He'd worked the room, but he was still only part of the way there, and he knew it.

Of course, it wasn't until after he'd established just how far he was from his mark that Seraph leaned over his shoulder to look at his tablet and tutted quietly. "That's the kind of thing you see late in the Games, a real Hail Mary."

"I'm not the one workin' the odds, sweetheart," he replied dryly.

"No, you're really not," Seraph agreed with a small smile before she peeked again at the amount he still needed. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "if you're amenable to a trade, I can get you the full amount. You can use the rest for anything else that boy of yours might need — or the girl, as the case may be down the line."

"What kind of trade?" he asked with a frown. That … was not anything that the others had suggested was even a possibility.

"Oh, nothing right _now_ ," she said, waving her hand almost airily. "Just a favor down the line. You know James taught me to fly, right? I'm sure I can think of something later on."

He clearly thought it over for a few moments. "How often have you done this?"

"Oh, I've asked favors of just about every victor," she said. "Really — you can ask them if you like. Darling little Peter helped me update my music collection. I think he really enjoyed himself!"

He glanced over toward the small gathering of victors with a frown. She wasn't lying about all of them having done things for her. They'd told him as much themselves. It really didn't _sound_ like a terrible trade, but he just didn't believe it was as simple as she was laying it out to be.

Of course, if he didn't go along with it, then he couldn't say he'd done everything he could for Scott….

"It's an honor trade," she said, tapping her fingers on the edge of his tablet. "I won't ask for anything in writing. But if you give me your word of honor, I know I'm not just _giving_ my money away." She grinned. "I trust you."

"My word's about all I've got anyhow," he replied. "And I take my honor seriously."

"Wonderful." Her smile widened as she plucked the tablet from him and started to enter her information, though she paused before she could finish and glanced up at him. "Your word, then? On your honor — just one favor when I ask it?"

"Yes," he said with a nod and a tiny frown. It seemed awfully one sided — in his favor — and that never happened.

She beamed at him and handed him back the tablet. "Lovely. Good luck with your young tribute. I think he'll surprise all of us once you've helped him along a bit."

"I hope so," he said with a nod, though as she walked away, he had the strong urge to go back upstairs and start drinking.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Kitty had been having a pretty miserable night. She hadn't found much of a place to hide during the day on the previous day, and so she hadn't really had much in the way of sleep by the time it was cool enough to move again, so she had simply fallen asleep in the first decent hidey hole she could find the next night — only to be woken up before dawn by a torrent of rain that nearly swept her out of her hiding place until she got back to steadier ground.

The only nice thing was that when morning came around, the sun hadn't come out — so at least she could try to find shelter without feeling like she was being baked alive.

Though being pounded to death by rain was also not on her list of favorite experiences.

"At least I'm not sweaty," she muttered to herself as she trudged through the rain, trying her best to keep from drowning herself in self-pity when she knew she needed to stay sharp and focus to survive the Games.

When she finally spotted a decent outcropping of rock that seemed to house a few cave-like openings, she let out a sigh of relief and headed right for it — though she stopped short when she saw movement in one of the caves.

It was lucky for her she'd stopped when she did, too, because America had meant to slam into whoever was intruding and instead just barely missed Kitty. She spun around, fists raised, and Kitty instinctively drew her sword, but when both girls recognized each other from the rooftop training with Logan, they had to pause.

"What're you doing here?" America blurted out.

"Trying not to drown," Kitty replied, wide-eyed, though she hadn't relaxed her grip on her sword, either.

America watched her for a moment before she sighed and lowered her fists. "Alright, come on in. I could use an extra set of hands anyway."

"Sure, what's going on?" Kitty asked as she lowered her sword and stepped fully out of the deluge. She hadn't wanted to fight America, anyway — and she had been on her own since Alex died. It would be nice to spend some time with people; she had just been thinking about how miserable being alone in this death trap of an arena was.

"It's Billy," America said, gesturing inside, though she was sure to keep her body between Kitty and Billy, still not quite trusting anyone in the arena not to finish off the helpless young man.

Kitty had to frown when she saw the state of him, too. He was pale and drawn, and his arm was wrapped in bloodied fabric that had to be America's pants, considering how little fabric was left for America to actually wear. But he was totally unconscious, a lot like Alex had been — not responding to anyone.

"We got a parachute earlier with some pain medicine," America explained quietly. "He was poisoned. The girl from Ten got him in the arm." She tapped her own arm, where the tracker was, and raised an eyebrow with a significant look.

"Crap," Kitty said, shaking her head. Nobody deserved that kind of damage, especially not Billy, who had been sweet when she worked with him on the rooftop. "What can I do to help?"

"Honestly, just having a second set of eyes will do wonders," America admitted. She gestured at the water bottle nearby. "I haven't been able to get much sleep looking out for him — and if you're on your own, I doubt you did either. Just having a watch should help both of us, right?"

"Anything you need," Kitty swore. "It's nice to see a face that's not … you know. Screaming murder at me."

"Somebody try to do you in? Because I can return the favor much more successfully after five winks," America said with a crooked grin.

"Tried," she said. "Failed."

"So which one was yours?" America asked, gesturing toward the sky.

"Well. I stabbed the Six boy in the shoulder, but I didn't kill him. I don't think," she admitted. "He was working over my district partner."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," America said, gesturing to the still-sleeping Billy. "Next time I see Ten, I'm beating her face in."

"That's a good face to beat in," Kitty agreed. "Is that the only one you've run into?"

"No, I also killed the kid from Two — the boy. He was alive when I left him, but he wasn't going to stay that way," America said. "He tried to kill Billy too."

Kitty raised her eyebrows at that and let out a low whistle. "Your friend has a target on him."

"He's also an idiot," America said, though it was with a tone warm with affection as she glanced over at Billy. "He went to the Tesseract instead of running, but he did get me these." She held up the brass knuckles before she let out a sigh. "Once this rain lets up, I was thinking I'd go hunting for some tributes to get rid of. Billy's only chance is if the Games end quickly."

"As long as you're not planning to beat me down, I can help," Kitty said, then smiled ruefully, her teeth caught on her bottom lip as she admitted, "I don't really want to kill anyone, to be honest."

"You just worry about sending them back my way when they try to run away," America said with a small smirk. "And don't worry — I wouldn't beat you down. If it comes down to just the three of us, I promise I'll make it easy and painless."

"That isn't exactly very … you know what, let's just see how it goes. Maybe we'll get a few days with no deaths, and I'll be the one that gets the button."

"I hope not," America said with a genuine wince. She gestured at Billy as she added, "You haven't been around to see what this stuff does."

"Yeah," Kitty said thoughtfully. "But … if they did it on purpose instead of a slow leak, I'd bet it'd be quicker."

"Possibly," America said slowly, then let out a little noise and waved her hand. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. There's still a dozen kids we have to get through first before that happens anyway."

Kitty nodded. "Want me to catch some more water for you?"

"That would be great, thanks," America agreed. She tossed the water bottle to Kitty before she broke into a wide grin. "And Kitty?"

Kitty turned to look up at her with an open expression.

"Anybody screws with you, give me a holler. You're too pretty to let someone screw with you," America said, the grin widening into a genuine laugh.

Kitty had to smile back at her. "I'll keep that in mind," she said with a laugh. "But I think … you'll have your hands too full with this one to care too much about anyone that messes with me. Believe me, I get it."

"Well, just because I've got priorities doesn't mean you're not part of the team," America said with a little shrug as if this was a perfectly obvious arrangement. "I mean it — I got your back."

"And I've got yours," Kitty agreed, slipping back out to reach beyond the ledge in an attempt to get clean rainwater. She really was glad to have someone else to share her misery with, at least for as long as the alliance lasted.

* * *

None of the Careers were happy — and it wasn't just because of the miserable rain.

Their plan hadn't worked at all, and not only had they failed to draw in the two girls from Scott's alliance, but their bait had managed to climb out of the pit on his own while they were waiting. There was plenty of blame to go around, though it seemed that Trevor was simply content to watch the two Ones bickering back and forth about just whose fault it was that they hadn't gotten a kill out of the previous night.

"Remind me again why _three_ of you couldn't manage to take out the Creed girl?" Jean shot back at Kilgrave after he'd accused her for the very last time that she had been too soft on the Seven boy.

"Maybe if our _advance scout_ had told us she had claws — literal claws — we could have been better prepared for that fight!" Kilgrave shouted, his face his favorite shade of purple.

"You'd be better prepared for that fight if you'd actually learned how to do something other than _talk_ while you were in that stupid academy!"

"At least I was trained. I've never seen such shoddy marksmanship!"

"At least I've killed before," Jean replied, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"You think I haven't?" Kilgrave challenged her.

"No, I really don't," she said with her chin tipped up and a condescending look on her face.

"How do you think I was chosen to be this year's tribute?" he shot back.

"I think they sent you in so they wouldn't have to listen to you anymore," she replied.

"As opposed to you — you just invited yourself along, and you can't even finish the job when we give it to you."

"You can't even start the job — still expecting a woman to handle it for you."

"Remind me again who here has actually killed anyone in these Games? I didn't see you finish anyone. At least I killed the Five girl in the bloodbath, not that you remember that. Likely too busy making eyes at your so-called target."

"The skinny girl that turned you down in the Capitol?" Jean replied. "Good luck killing any of the _other_ girls that turned you down."

Kilgrave glared at her. "Is that why you didn't finish off the Seven boy? He just seemed to _care_ so much. Couldn't stand to put down your little toy?"

She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. "It really doesn't matter at this point. He can't have gotten too far, and he's as good as dead blinded."

"You'd think so. We'll just have to see who that cannon was for, won't we?" Kilgrave grumbled, his arms crossed as his expression clearly said how much he'd like to tear Jean apart if he didn't need other people in his alliance to make it work.

And the whole time, outside their hideout, the girl from Ten was simply listening, amused that the so called 'Career pack' couldn't get along for more than thirty seconds unsupervised.

The rain had made it incredibly easy for her to sneak up on them where normally the wide open spaces surrounding their cove would have been impossible to make use of without being seen. But now? She watched for a moment, trying to decide who it was that needed an attitude adjustment the most. But when the boy from One wandered a little too close to the pouring rain, her choice was made for her.

In a rush, Yuriko simply darted forward and wrapped an arm around Kilgrave's neck before she hauled him out into the rain. He didn't have much of a chance to see who it was that was attacking him as the pouring rain clouded his vision. But she was taller, and stronger, and clearly no stranger to manhandling people — he wasn't going anywhere.

He fought her grip and struggled, throwing himself around, trying to break free, until the two of them fell into a small pit that had filled up with water from the day's rain. It wasn't too deep — just a couple of feet — but it was more than enough for Yuriko once she got onto his back and pushed his head underwater. He flailed and fought and desperately tried to knock her away, but he simply didn't have the leverage. And after a surprisingly short time, the bubbles quit boiling up, and the smooth talker from One went still.

When Yuriko stood up, she could see the two Careers in the opening of their hideout trying to see what had become of their ally, but either they didn't see her, or they just weren't looking too hard, and they looked even less likely to move once the cannon sounded — though both of them were on edge and had weapons drawn, and, for the moment, Yuriko decided to leave them to their own devices, sure that they would likely kill each other anyway. She had far more interesting prospects to choose from for her next kill anyway.

"I'm not going to avenge him, are you?" Trevor asked quietly as the lanky girl from Ten stalked away.

"Why would I?" Jean asked, shaking her head. "He was close to turning on me anyway."

"Then I guess it's just you and me, beautiful," he replied with a little smile. "Wait out this storm and go find those Sevens, eh?"

She nodded, a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "No mistakes this time."

* * *

Remy let out a low whistle when he poked his head out of the hiding place he and Betsy had found. "Sure is comin' down cats and dogs," he said.

"It is," she agreed. "Makes me want to go take a shower, but I'd just bet they'd turn the water off halfway through."

"Depends on how much you gettin' clean, _cher_ ," Remy said, his smile wide and crooked. "Sometin' tells me you jus' too pretty for dem to let dat pass."

"Yet I doubt that's the kind of show they're after," she said with a little smirk.

"Dat's they loss," he said, waving his hand. "Me, I prefer a pretty ting like you to killin' any day."

She shrugged one shoulder up to her ear. "If I had some soap, I'd have you wash my back."

"We best find some soap den. Offer like dat ain't gonna last too long, I don't tink," he said, grinning broadly and lazily as he leaned back against the wall of their little shelter.

"I'm not the kind to put timers on my offers. Normally." She gave him a wicked grin. "I guess if your mentor — and the crowds — love us, we'll be getting that soap."

"Miss Drew, if you got any kinda heart, you gon' help ol' Remy," he said, tipping his head up at the sky.

Betsy was openly giggling at him. "Out of all the things they could send, do you really think that the Gamemakers would allow that?"

"Well, tink about it," Remy said, perfectly reasonable but grinning _wide_. "We got water. We got weapons. We got food from dat generous Ten tribute — what else dey gon' send us?"

"You have a fine point," she agreed.

He couldn't stop grinning at her and, to make his point further, rummaged in the pack he'd stolen from Arkady and tossed her a package of dried apples. "Mebbe we find some more food dat ain't dried up in a bag after de rain, _non_? But a storm like dis — it's a day for stayin' in, I tink."

"And miss out on the possible soap waiting in the shower outside?" she replied, still smiling.

He laughed. "You impatient, _cher_. You gotta wait for de sponsors to get de message."

"I hope that's not a problem," she said with a little laugh.

"Ain't a problem in de least," he assured her, still laughing as he popped a few dried fruits into his mouth. "Jus' gotta wait for de sponsors — dey mebbe aren't as patient, I tink."

She gave him a wry smile. "Good idea. Build your strength."

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama


	27. Try Not to Go Insane

**(A/N): Seriously, O, he SO had it coming. omg.**

* * *

 **Chapter 27: "Try Not to Go Insane"**

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

Bobbi was honestly thrown off her game. She had never seen Viper in such a _good_ mood. The woman had been very nearly chipper ever since this morning, and Bobbi couldn't see any good reason for it. As far as she knew, nothing had changed, and it was too early in the Games to think Betsy had it in the bag.

"What's the joke?" she finally had to ask, unable to figure it out on her own.

"Joke?" Viper asked, still contentedly smiling. "What joke?"

"Something's got you in a good mood; I'm just wondering what it is," Bobbi explained.

"The promise of getting what I want," she replied with a smirk as she stirred her martini with her finger. "It's enough to get any girl into a good mood."

"Just the promise?" Bobbi raised an eyebrow. "I don't usually celebrate until it's a done deal."

"Oh, it's a done deal," she said with a little laugh. "It's only a matter of timing."

"Well. Let me know when that happens, will you? I'll celebrate when it's _done_ ," Bobbi said, leaning back.

"You'll be celebrating with me anyhow," Viper said, giving Bobbi a significant look over her drink. "You've already signed up with the winning team, after all."

"Oh, now you're just getting ahead of yourself," Bobbi said, shaking her head with a light laugh. "There's still plenty of work to do first."

At that, Viper laughed out loud and shook her head. "This has nothing to do with these silly little games," she said, then amended her statement. "Well, next to nothing."

Bobbi shook her head once more. "I'm sure it'll be something — whatever it is — when it happens. It's got to be to have you so…" She trailed off and ordered a martini for herself, still smiling to herself.

"Now … back to the task at hand," Viper said after she finished off her drink. "Obviously, we can't send the girl _soap_... though it would make for some interesting television if she made good use of the opportunity."

"I think Jessica Drew would have a coronary if you did — which makes me want to do it," Bobbi admitted as her own drink had only just arrived.

"That really makes me want to do it too," Viper agreed. "She could use a little shake up."

"So... scented or unscented?" Bobbi asked with a sly smile.

"I really think the two of them won't care," Viper replied with a wave of her hand before her expression turned downright playful. "But I'm partial to something flowery."

"I'll pick something out," Bobbi promised, pushing off from the table with her drink in hand. "Might even have it sculpted — something to tweak Jessica. I'll get creative." With that, she sauntered off to go find where the Gamemakers would be staging things.

Technically, the victors weren't supposed to be back there, but that had never stopped Bobbi before. She knew her way around the place, and she slipped in easily enough — the advantages of working with Fury so closely were that she had access to most places anyway.

Viper's sponsor money would get them matches and a lighter, supposedly to help those two light a fire in the torrential downpour, but Bobbi had stopped by her own suite on the way down and grabbed the final touch, a lilly-sculpted, baby blue soap that she slipped into the matchbook as she looked around the staging area.

So much was going on — not only for sponsor gifts but for other controls. Someone had a transport prepped in case the rain killed any more tributes, or in case little Billy Kaplan finally died. Someone else was watching the weather controls to make sure the rain kept coming.

She spotted Fury chatting with Fitzsimmons — likely about some mutts, since those hadn't been seen yet in the Games — and headed over to flag him down. After all, she hadn't had the chance to talk to him yet, not with Viper spending so much time with her after Brian's death 'freed her up,' and she had _plenty_ she wanted to report.

She passed by a technician working on some distinctive-looking red glasses and frowned at them for only a moment before she caught up with Fury. "We need to talk," she said in a low tone, hardly moving her lips in case, even here, in the secret workings of the Games, any cameras were watching.

He gave her a raised eyebrow look for a moment. "Miss Morse, I thought you'd been around long enough to know how very busy I am right now. But I see that I need to take time out of my busy schedule to — once again — show you the way out."

"You know me. One drink and I lose all sense of direction," she replied, swirling the drink in question with one hand, a crooked, tipsy smile painted on her lips.

He looked incredibly irritated as he took her by the arm and hauled her out of the control room and down the hall, muttering under his breath the whole way down to his office. But as soon as the door was shut behind him, the muttering stopped and he let out a breath. "Alright, Morse, what's so important that you needed to interrupt me?"

"Viper's in a good mood," Bobbi led out. "And I don't mean the usual. She's downright chipper, and has been since this morning. She's _playful_." She shook her head. "Not to mention she's been hinting that she's going to get what she wants, that it's a done deal. Oh — and that Seraph woman we've been trying to investigate? Is apparently _her_ mentor." She laid it all out at once so there was no mistaking the fact that something serious was going on, not giving Fury a chance to break in until she was through, and then took a breath, watching the director's face carefully as he thought it over.

Fury, for his part, actually looked for the first time since she'd met him as if her report truly was news to him. "Seraph?"

"She came to introduce herself, officially, and make sure — how did she put it? — her apprentice was choosing the right apprentice for herself. So yes, I'm sure of the connection."

Fury let out a sigh as he started to pace the room. "That is _not_ good news." He narrowed his eyes and looked at her with a hard glare. "Do you know who Seraph is working for? Because it is _not_ our side."

"I just know that Viper's not fond of the Capitol, but I don't know what side that puts them both on, sorry," Bobbi said.

"Who else has Seraph been friendly with? Schmidt by chance? Or Stane?"

"She's been friendly with all the victors. She likes the newest ones. Schmidt is friendly with Viper — as you know — but Seraph doesn't stay too close; I'm not sure if it's just to delay suspicion, though. And no one without a Y chromosome is friendly with Stane," she said, this time with a small smirk.

"Except for Viper," he said, shaking his head. "That woman is up to something. See if you can figure out what it is."

"I should be able to tell you more soon. I know meeting Seraph was a test, so they're watching me closely right now, but I'll let you know as soon as I can if I know _anything_ useful," Bobbi promised.

"I want you to focus on what Seraph wants from our youngest victors. That's where her focus is. We _need_ to know who she answers to."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Bobbi said with a little nod. "And while you're at it, warn Rhodey and Logan, would you? I can talk to Quill easily enough with the upcoming wedding, but outside of him, the victors on _your_ side… I need to steer clear while Viper and Seraph are still weighing me out."

"I'll make sure to talk to both of them," Fury agreed, though he was already putting a few pieces together on what he suspected was a play for one of them outright. "Tell Jess to get those two to keep away from Seraph until this is over."

"That I can do. She's going to come talk to me anyway in, oh, whenever my tribute gets a parachute," Bobbi said with a smirk.

"Nothing's going out until after the rain," Fury told her. "It won't make it otherwise."

"Then I can't promise I can get hold of Jess. Viper's kept me in her sights nonstop."

"Just be careful of what you drink," Fury said with a far more serious expression than what she was expecting.

She paused and looked his way before she nodded seriously. "She hasn't managed to slip me anything I didn't want her to yet. And I've been building up tolerances to some of what I suspect she wants to use if she ever feels like questioning me," she assured him.

He nodded and tipped his chin up toward the door, then raised his voice. "Don't go wandering around without an escort, Miss Morse."

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Bucky had been trying to find his way closer to the other tributes for most of the Games, though he hadn't seen anyone since he'd stepped into that fight between the Twelves and the Ten girl. And with the rain coming down the way it was, he didn't think he'd find anyone else that night, either.

The problem was that the water was starting to flood the caves that he'd taken shelter in, so he had to find a new place or risk drowning. But that also meant going out in the rain as night was falling.

He wanted to get a move on before he totally lost the light, though.

Bucky didn't think he would run into anyone in this downpour, but he had his mace out all the same as he picked his way over the muddy desert ground. The mouth of the cave was spewing water, and he could see the ground swirling around him, but it was only about an inch, so he didn't worry too much about it until he heard what sounded like the earth itself had simply split, the sound explosive and crackling over the area.

He didn't have any time to react before he saw a wall of water rushing toward him, and the next thing he knew, he was underwater, his body tossed in the current until he didn't know which way was up, even though he knew he had to figure that out or risk drowning.

His chest was burning, and he could feel his knees and elbows crashing into rocks on his way past, but finally, he just let his body go limp, and when he started to float as the water settled into more of a steady stream than a wall — he swam that direction.

His head broke the surface, and he gasped in air, completely relieved in the few moments he had before he went under again, this time because the current was simply too strong — though at least this time he knew which direction was up.

He had to do that several times over, clawing his way back to the surface, gasping in as much air as he could before he went under again. He didn't know how long that kept up, but he knew he couldn't keep doing it forever, and he kept trying to fight the current to get toward whatever counted as shore in a desert flash flood.

When he surfaced from a particularly long period of time underwater, he almost didn't break the surface because something was in the way, and he didn't really process it as he scrambled to grab hold of it. Whatever it was, it was floating on the water, and it would help him stay above the water.

He held on for a while, just gasping in breath, until he finally tried to pull himself the rest of the way up. It didn't hold his whole body, and Bucky saw now that what he'd found was one of the very few desert trees, scraggly and uprooted entirely by the flood.

But it could hold his head and shoulders above the water, so Bucky just grabbed hold and let the current carry him, watching as the mountains and ridges disappeared from view as he was washed away — with no way of knowing or controlling where he'd end up.

* * *

 _Tahiti Rec Room_

* * *

It was quickly becoming a full time job for Kurt to watch over his friends. Peter had been despondent since seeing Gwen die, and as much as he sympathized and wanted to try to support him, he was unfortunately very sidetracked by Kitty and America teaming up to help Billy.

"It's just too bad that the timing is so horrid," Kurt muttered to Kate as they tried to decide where to spend the evening. Peter had given up on watching — no longer invested at all, and instead trying to find a way to get into the other side of Tahiti to see how long it was going to take for things to get moving already.

"Well, she's not nearly as bad off as Natasha was, and she came back before I did," Kate offered. "Maybe he won't have to wait too long…"

"I hope you're right," he agreed. "I don't think anyone will be able to live with him if they drag it out for too long."

She nodded her agreement, sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "But I'm really glad your best friend found my best friend," she admitted in a low whisper. "They'll be unstoppable."

"I'm sure they will," Kurt said, "At least she's not kissing anyone she shouldn't. For now."

"I'm sure you just saw… I mean, emotions run high…"

"Kate." He raised his eyebrows at her with a flat look.

"Well, would it be so bad if she had a cute guy waiting for her after she won? Would it really?" Kate asked. She knew that Kurt was protective of his friend, and she didn't blame him — but she also could hardly believe that her romantic boyfriend wasn't totally on the side of some forbidden love.

"As long as he wasn't engaged to one of the princesses — which he is."

"And you know as well as I do he doesn't want to be. Come on, Kurt. Let her live a little, huh?" she teased.

"It's not like I can get in the way," he said in a grumpy tone.

She just smiled and reached over to take his chin in her hand and pull him into a kiss. "Should I be jealous of how jealous you are?" she teased.

"Will it get me more fraternization?"

She laughed. "It might," she said. "Depending on how real the jealousy is. Fake jealousy get a very passionate attempt to win you back."

"That one then," he said with a nod.

She grinned at him and pulled him into a longer, more involved kiss. "Then I'll just have to win you over," she decided when the kiss broke, resting her forehead against his.

"Good luck," he said with a little smirk. "I'm not that easy to win."

"Well, it wouldn't be worth my time if it was easy," she teased him.

But despite the good mood they were both in after some playful teasing and flirting, when they got into the rec room, where most of the Tahiti kids were watching the games, they were taken off-guard by the look of near-panic on Steve's face as he was clearly holding his breath while his old friend from Five bobbed along in what looked like a river.

The teasing smiles on both of their faces fell when they saw how pale Steve looked, though it looked like their friends already had things well in hand. Clint had settled onto the armrest of the couch beside Steve, looking like he'd come fresh off a mission and still wearing his black mission clothes, just quietly talking to Steve about how he'd grown up in those mountain areas, and so long as Bucky could stay afloat, the flash floods were usually over as soon as they started.

"Steve..." Kurt said as he approached him slowly. "Perhaps you should take a seat while this plays out."

Steve turned toward Kurt with an open look on his face, but it was Ororo who more or less pulled him onto the couch and practically sat on him. "He's going to be fine," she said. "He can float just about as well as that tree he's hanging onto."

"He's past the worst of it, anyway," Clint assured him. "That first wall of water's the real killer. After that, it's just riding it out. He's fine."

"See?" Ororo said before she gave Steve's arm a little squeeze. "Fine. I'm reasonably sure Clint's talking from experience, and if that's true … and what you told me about Bucky was true, then stupid floats as well as wood."

Steve didn't take his gaze off of the screen in front of him, but he did nod the slightest bit, slowly, and Clint and Ororo shared a look over the top of Steve's head.

"On the plus side, he's probably not thirsty anymore," Clint said with a sideways grin that had Ororo rolling her eyes, though Steve didn't respond until Bucky was more or less safe, floating more than struggling for air — and Steve fell back against the couch in pure relief.

After that, Ororo was quick to shove Steve's arm again. "Are you still worried, because you really need a shower. You smell."

"I'm pretty sure that's Clint you're smelling," Steve said with a small smirk, finally starting to reorient himself.

"You wish," Clint replied. "You smell like authority — and not in a good way."

"So that's not sewer I'm smelling from your assassination run?"

"No, that's the authority I was talking about."

"Uh-huh." Steve shook his head and stood back up from the couch. "Probably should get some sleep anyway. I've got an early-morning intel run," he said to no one in particular before he headed off.

After Steve left, Ororo looked up at Kurt with a little frown. "Someone needs to tell Coulson to get it in gear. Everyone is too caught up in this to be able to … live."

"I have to go debrief with him as soon as he gets down from the Capitol nonsense anyway," Clint offered. "And since I don't have a friend in this fight, maybe he'll hear it better from me." He stood up and stretched before he gave Ororo a little wink and headed down the hall toward Coulson's office.

He didn't have long to wait, though he didn't mind hanging around the hall for a while. Natasha was out on a mission, Kate was wrapped up with Kurt… he knew how to wait.

So when Coulson came down the hall apologizing for being held up on the "other" side of SHIELD, Clint just waved him off. "No problem. Seems like the Games are pretty much, you know, all-consuming," he said, waiting for Coulson to let him into the office before he shut the door behind himself and added, "for everybody, I mean."

"No kidding; it's pretty ridiculous up there," Coulson agreed as he reshuffled a few files. "What can I do for you, Mr. Barton? Seeing as your debriefs have a tendency to start and end before the door can be shut."

"I meant what I said, Coulson — the Games are eating everyone up. You should see it down here; they're just… Pete's shut down, Sin hasn't left the training room, and you can't pull Kate or Kurt or Cassie away from the living room for _anything_ that's not a mission. Even Steve just had a moment — I've never seen him do whatever _that_ was, but it was no good," Clint said earnestly.

"What do you suggest I do?" Coulson asked. "They're only here between missions and you know as well as I do that if I cut them from watching, there'll be an uprising. I can't bring Xavier down until this is over or I would. So … what should we do?"

"I … dunno," Clint admitted. "But you gotta do something. They can't go on like this or I swear, one of them is just gonna… drop. Step up the Tahiti voodoo or… or step up the revolution. I dunno."

Coulson looked thoughtful for a moment as he considered his options. "Can't step up the revolution, that's already not in the cards. But ... there were some missions I was going to have them all run while the new victor is getting prepped for the crowd after the Games. Nothing heavy — surveillance, try to establish a new contact with the rebels in Eleven…"

"Might work, but I'm telling you, Coulson. If they think you're just keeping 'em busy…" Clint shook his head. "You're gonna need Charles down here pronto."

"I can't tell them who's on the list," he replied. "I don't want to raise anyone's spirits prematurely and have to deal with the fallout if it fails."

"Yeah, that would make it worse." Clint sighed and shrugged his shoulders up before he paused once more. "For your sake, though, better be every single one of those kids. And the kid from Seven, too — Katie was telling me Skye nearly had a fit over him."

Coulson let out a sigh. "He's not dead yet," he said. "He's still got a chance."

Clint smirked. "Careful, sir. You're not supposed to have favorites."

"Supposed to ... " Coulson shook his head. "Everyone plays favorites."

"Guess that's true." Clint paused for a moment and tipped his head to the side. "Speaking of… how's Bobbi?" he asked carefully. "Haven't seen her in over a month."

"She's doing her job … and it's taken her somewhere she hadn't expected."

"That's pretty much how covert crap always works, isn't it?" Clint pointed out. "Next time you see her, just… tell her I was thinking about her, wouldja? Not the same around here."

"She'll be down at the end of the Games — unless this new job takes her back to Two," Coulson said. "But I think she'll need a boost before that happens."

"That bad, huh?" Clint asked, completely openly.

Coulson considered how much Bobbi would tell him and then slowly nodded. "She's making friendly with her old mentor."

Clint frowned at that. "She's a piece of work. Didn't even really meet her during my Games, but she _is_."

"She's up to something big; we just don't know what."

"Well, any support I can give her, let me know. Even if it's clad in black and she doesn't know it."

"She may need it before it's over," he agreed.

Clint just nodded and stood to leave. "Oh, hey, and by the way, killed that guy you wanted dead."

"I assumed as much," Coulson said with a nod. "I'm sending the girls out tomorrow. They may need a big brother to keep an eye on them on their mission."

"Hey, you know I'm always up for whatever you need. Only don't tell 'em I'm big brothering them. They don't like stuff like that."

"Your official role will be 'pilot'," Coulson said.

"I can run with that," Clint agreed. "See ya tomorrow, boss."

* * *

 _Triskellion_

* * *

Skye wasn't quite freaking out as badly as she had been the night before, but she had all this leftover energy from the terror that had gripped her, and she hadn't exactly been able to sleep, either.

But that was when she got her best work done.

She had her laptop pulled up on her knees and a cup of coffee in her hand. She hadn't left her room — or really, her bed — pretty much all day, instead focusing on the snooping she had decided to do so she could distract herself from everything awful that was going on.

So when there was a knock at the door, she totally wasn't prepared for it.

"Just a sec," she called out, quickly climbing out from under the covers as she put the coffee aside and scrambled to the door, wondering if she'd missed a memo about a party she was supposed to go to or a meeting she was supposed to attend. "Hey, AC," she said when she saw Coulson. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to check in with you. Make sure that you heard that the rebel from Eleven is in good shape, healing well. And … be sure that you are handling these Games alright. All things considered."

Skye shook her head at him for a moment. "All things considered, I haven't broken anyone's nose, so I think I'm handling it okay," she told him frankly. "But I'm glad to hear it — about the rebel that is. They were a good group of guys when I talked with them.

"That's good to hear, considering how this one returned to us."

"Yeah, I heard about the hand and the leg," Skye said with a frown.

"Skye," he said, though he paused for a moment. "Your _friend_ isn't out of the game yet. He still has a shot."

"Yeah, I know. I saw the morning report when Clara and Kamala found him," Skye said, though she could feel her throat constrict when Coulson brought it up. She hated how terrified she was this year… and she hated that she knew what would happen even if Scott _did_ win. She took a deep breath. "Hey, Coulson," she said suddenly. "Have you got, like, ten minutes? There's something I gotta show you."

He tipped his head her way and watched her for a second, and when she just held his gaze, he nodded softly. "Of course."

"Great." She held up both hands to signal him to wait, and when she returned a moment later, she had her laptop in one hand and was motioning for him to move with the other. "Um — I'd invite you into my place, but it's sort of a mess ... can we use yours? This might take a… bit."

"What is it you need?" he asked, moving out of her way.

"Oh, so many things," she said, completely seriously as she led him to a counter and set her laptop in front of him, pulling up the research she'd been doing. "So." She turned to face him better. "When I'm mad, I like to… well. Get into stuff I'm not supposed to."

"So all the time? Skye, I had no idea you had that kind of an anger issue," he replied with a tiny smirk.

"Har har." She rolled her eyes at him. "No, I mean… _really_ important stuff. That I should not be getting into. Like maybe the records the princesses are keeping for a certain side business that I totally don't know about but which is the stupidest thing _ever_."

"Is there any particular reason you've been digging into this business?" Coulson asked, one eyebrow raised just slightly.

"Besides the fact that it's wrong and it makes me mad?" Skye asked.

"You sure it's not because you're worried about a certain victor or two?"

"That's not the point here," she said, waving him off. "The point is — well. I want to know how much you know about the _leverage_ that they're using, because I have a list."

He looked openly surprised for a moment. "You have the list?"

Skye shrugged. "I was mad. I told you — I can get into anything when I'm mad and I've got a good computer to work with." She watched his expression. "I can make you a copy, but AC - if you want it, you have to promise me these people, the ones that are being used and don't even know it? You have to promise me they get out as _soon_ as the revolution starts, because these are _exactly_ the people who will get hit when the Capitol retaliates."

He watched her for a moment as she fiddled with the rings on her finger. "Yes," he said finally, nodding his head. "Yes, of course." He stopped and gave her a long look. "Is this the only list you've found?"

"Well." She hedged for a moment. "There's an official list, but the one I'm giving you is bigger. Includes more names in case something happens to the official ones."

"Yes, but … maybe if you get a little extra rage going on, you can look for another list. One that AD Hill needs corroborated."

"Well, considering how the Games have been going so far, I'm sure I could build up a little rage," she said, watching him almost carefully and biting her bottom lip as she considered it. "Or maybe send me to a Capitol party for ten minutes…"

"Would it help or hurt your cause if I told you that the boy from Seven has a parachute with his name on it?"

Her entire expression lit up, and she stared at him openly before she simply wrapped him in a quick hug. "Oh good. He needs it," she said once she'd released him. She beamed at him and then knocked him in the shoulder with her fist. "Don't you worry, AC. I'll get you the clientele list and _still_ be in a good mood. I'm just that good."

"Good luck with that — both sides of it," he said, though he couldn't quite pull back the smirk all the same. "There isn't supposed to be any record of the clients, but I have a hard time believing that."

"Maybe there's not a record of names, but bank account numbers, addresses… there are recognizable patterns to follow, I promise. I could probably track them down by the IP addresses they use to coordinate their, um, purchases."

"I can give you a couple of dates and amounts to make sure you have the right track," Coulson told her. "Only a couple though."

"That would be perfect," she agreed, nodding as her eyes were sparkling with the possibilities for her new project. "If I can even get one or two corroborated, it'll get me in the door."

"I can give you the names for those two," Coulson said. "We pretty much have everything on those two … but they might help you find a pattern."

"Thanks a mil, Coulson," she said warmly. "I'll have this wrapped up by the end of the Games — just you wait."


	28. The Right Bait

**Chapter 28: The Right Bait**

* * *

 _July 11: Day Five of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

It was hard to tell what time of day it was, really, when it was such a solid downpour, but Kitty felt like she'd had the first decent night's sleep since the Games started now that she had joined up with the Twelves. It felt amazing, and she hadn't realized just how badly she _needed_ sleep an relaxation until then.

Now, it was America's turn to sleep, and Kitty was more or less patrolling the area around their little cave. She didn't want to go too far and risk getting lost in the rain, but she also didn't want anyone to sneak up on them. She felt like she had completed a good circle in her patrol and was headed back when she spotted something along the edge of a ridge nearby.

When she got closer, she saw that it was a tarp, draped clumsily over a ledge to try and keep out the rain, and as she approached, she noticed that there was a boot sticking out the end of the tarp that didn't quite cover its occupant.

She crept as close as she was comfortable and carefully reached out to give the booted foot a little tap. Just like that, the boot withdrew, and she watched the young boy from Eleven thrash until he was out of the tarp, both hands raised in fists and looking ready to fight — if he could get out of his shelter properly.

She had her fists up as well, though she was more entertained by his wrestling match with his tarp that lasted far longer than it should have before he was even in an approximation of a fighting stance, halfway on top of the crumpled tarp. "Miles?"

He blinked at her for a moment. "Kitty?"

She let her fists down with a little laugh before she bounded forward and gave him a hug. "You goober, what are you doing fighting with your tent?"

"Um ... I was having a hard time setting it up last night, so.. I was like, half sleeping on it to keep it in place?"

"You decided to punish it for its insolence more like," she said with a little laugh.

"Yes, that," he agreed.

"Are you alone?" she asked, starting to walk backward.

For a moment, Miles' expression fell, and he nodded. "Yeah."

Kitty matched his frown for a moment, knowing what a painful question that could be if he'd lost someone, before she decided then and there to adopt him into the group. "Well, come on — I ran into America and Billy," she said. "And … they can use the help."

"Yeah? What's up?" Billy asked, carrying the tarp in a bundle under his arm. "I've got… some food and a couple water bottles in the packs. Maybe they can use it?"

"I think it's more that they can use more people for shifts. Billy … isn't doing too well. And America …"

Miles winced in sympathetic understanding. "Yeah, say no more. Sounds like they could use a little cheer, right?"

"Yes. Lots of it," she agreed and tipped her head the way she'd come. "Let's go where you can dry off."

"That would be great," he agreed, looking down at his muddy clothes as his knees knocked together. He followed Kitty as she led the way back to where America and Billy were both sleeping — though America woke up the second Kitty was in the entrance of the little cave.

"Hi honey, I found a stray," Kitty teased.

America smirked despite herself and looked beyond Kitty to see Miles standing there shivering. "Come on in, _chico_. We don't have any blankets, but Kitty started a fire, so…" She gestured at the remnants of the previous night's fire and poked at some of the embers.

"Dry wood is kind of a hard-to-find item," Kitty said with a shrug. "But tumbleweeds are a little easier to come by."

"Dry anything is hard to find right now," Miles pointed out, nodding to himself as he took a seat close by the fire. He glanced at Billy, who was mumbling a bit in his sleep. "He okay?"

America shot Miles a _look_ for a moment before she shook her head. "No, he's not," she said simply.

"Is it time for another pill?" Kitty asked. "I'm losing track with the weather."

"Me too," America admitted. "We gave him one last night sometime, I think… and he does get sort of restless when it starts wearing off."

"When _what_ starts wearing off?" Miles asked, looking between the two girls with his eyebrows raised.

"Pain medicine," America explained. "Billy's tracker broke."

Miles' eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. "Gotcha."

"I don't want to use it all too fast, though," America said with a frown as she looked at the bottle.

"It said every twelve hours," Kitty said.

"Yeah, but… by that math, the Games had better be done by Day Eight," America said.

"I still think we should let him take one," Kitty replied. "He's not hurting … and I think it's taking longer before he starts to mumble too."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Miles asked, completely new to the situation and watching all three of them with wide eyes.

Kitty covered her face with one hand and shook her head, knowing that Miles was poking the bear without realizing it. "I think it means he's healing — or at least coping with whatever is in that thing."

"Well, that's good. Maybe he'll be up and telling jokes soon," Miles offered, and America let out all her breath and gave him a hard look before she turned her attention back to Kitty.

"If the rain hasn't stopped tomorrow, I'm not going to let it stop me. I'll go out hunting if I have to, but we can't just wait here," she said.

"Agreed," Kitty said with a nod. "I'll help you."

"We'll need to move anyway. If we stay still, we're just asking for mutts or something," America said. "And we've been here since before you found us."

"Ah, home sweet no-longer home," MIles said, looking around the cavern walls.

"Are you ready to start cross-stitching the sign?" Kitty asked.

"I see how it is. Just because I'm a spider you think I can weave and sew and stuff," Milles said, grinning her way.

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "So, what do you have in your bag of tricks, Spidey?"

"Well, there's the stupid tarp," he said, gesturing at his crumpled shelter. "And then there's some food… dried blueberries and stuff mostly. And I've got three water bottles." He grinned. "Me and Gwen had some real luck with supplies before… well... "

"Yeah," Kitty replied quietly. She knew better than to ask for more details with that, especially since, by the look on his face, it looked like it was a recent loss.

"Mind if we steal some of your food?" America asked. "We've got plenty of water to spare, but food? Not so much."

"Be my guest," Miles said, unzipping his pack to show the food inside. "Gwen and I were rationing it to last the Games, so there should be plenty in there."

"I'll get you more when I kill what's left of the Careers," America promised him as she took a handful of dried berries. "We can have our pick of the Tesseract supplies."

"That's a plan I can get behind," Kitty agreed as she held her hands open for Miles to pour her some dried fruit.

"It'll be a feast," Miles agreed. "We'll throw a party."

* * *

The rain hadn't let up all day, and it wasn't showing any signs of stopping, either. But the problem was — it looked like that meant the tributes all had the same idea and were staying inside, in shelters, hiding from the weather.

And no one had died yet.

It was hard to tell time, but Kamala was sure they were coming up on evening. The sky was sort of darker, and the watch shift lined up right. Which meant the parade of faces was supposed to start soon — and there hadn't been any deaths yet.

Clara had fallen asleep, huddled up against the back wall of the cave with her arms around herself, not paying much attention to what was going on, though she was listening for her teammates. And Scott was restless, getting up every few minutes to check the knots on the traps he and Kamala had made, or to go to the cave entrance and listen to the rain ... Kamala was sure he was just looking for something to do.

"So," Kamala said at last, breaking the silence when she couldn't stand it anymore. "What happens if it's one of us?"

Scott stopped checking knots and tipped his head her way. "What?"

"What happens if one of us is the one they kill? I mean… no one has died all day," Kamala said, and with every word, she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"You're too cute to die like that," Clara said as she picked her head up. "There would be riots in the streets."

"That's sweet," Kamala said. "But it's random, isn't it? So it could be any of us."

Clara laughed at that. "Sure it is," she said, shaking her head. "If it's me — take my claws and tear someone up."

"I'll let Scott do that," Kamala said with a slight frown.

"It's not going to be any of us," Scott said firmly.

"Right, because I got here on accident, right?" Clara said, though Scott was already shaking his head before she'd even finished saying it.

"You've killed two Careers; they're not going to get rid of a heavyweight fighter when you're giving them the kills they need," Scott reasoned.

"You underestimate how many people my brother has pissed off," Clara said.

"You piss him off all the time," he argued. "They've got to appreciate that."

"Don't count on it," she countered.

"I'll expect an apology when I'm right," he said with a little smirk.

"Well," Clara said, sounding properly insulted. " _That's_ not ever gonna happen."

"I live in hope anyway," Scott said before he tipped his head Kamala's way and softened his expression toward the younger member of the team, even with his eyes shut tight. "I'm telling you — it's not going to be one of us. Clara's too good at fighting. You're too sweet; people like you. And me… I guess I ... well. It wouldn't be dramatic to kill me off after all that went down," he said with a shrug. "They'll want to do it with a little more flash."

"I guess so," Kamala said, though she was still rubbing her arm absently and kept glancing toward the sky.

Clara looked thoughtful as she stared out of the opening to the cave. Even if Scott was right on all that … their alliance would be better off if she could just … deal with the rotten Careers before they caught up to them. And when the anthem started to play, it just solidified that thought for her — since nobody else seemed to be dealing with the problem of killing the kids that needed to die.

"Maybe we missed a cannon in the thunder," Kamala said as she rushed to stand by Clara and watch the faces, her arms tightly wrapped around herself — though when there were no new faces, her expression fell into a wince, and she was practically holding her breath.

And yet… nothing happened.

Kamala peeked one eye open and then the other, glancing at the other two members of her alliance as she looked around. "So… not us then?" she asked finally, tentatively.

"Looks like," Scott said, and he didn't try that hard to hide the triumphant tone.

Clara looked his way but didn't say her mind. All she was thinking was: 'not tonight anyhow'. First thing in the morning — once those two got settled in — she was going to go hunting whether the rain had stopped or not. She wasn't going to wait for the Gamemakers to hit one of them with the poison. They'd gotten lucky that night, but that was no guarantee for the future.

* * *

"Dis place real cozy, but if we gon' see de faces, we gotta get out a little bit, _cher_ ," Remy said, gathering up the packs when he had returned from a little scouting.

"Tired of waiting for soap, aren't you?" she teased as she got to her feet.

"Mebbe dey can't get the parachute trough de rain," he said with a shrug.

"Clearly that's _got_ to be the problem," she replied with a little smirk. "There's no other reason we wouldn't have it by now."

"You jus' gotta be optimistic, _cher_ ," he told her, offering her his arm as they headed out into the rain for a moment, just to get moving.

She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword as she kept close to him and was sure to hold on to him when she saw how slippery the footing was outside. He kept one hand over hers, and for a long while, the two of them looked like they were just a couple of normal teenagers out for a walk — in the pouring rain.

They followed the path of flowing water, seeing as it was the easiest thing to see in the dim light. The ground was getting terribly saturated, though, and the once bone-dry desert had turned into what amounted to a swamp instead, with standing and running water all around them. They had to slow down a bit when they realized how much the water hid from them as Betsy positively clutched to Remy when she took a step and nearly fell into a hole.

"Watch your step, _cher_ ," he told her as he pulled her back to her feet.

"I thought I was," she replied, looking irritated that she'd missed that deep spot.

"Don' worry 'bout it none. Ain't no swamps in Two," he said with a little grin.

"Do you have them in Eight?" she asked.

"Down in de southern border," he said with a nod. "Right close to Four."

"Ugh. I hate Four," she grumbled.

"De people or district?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"The ones I've had to meet here," she replied. "They're awful."

"Well ... dey Careers," Remy said with a shrug.

She paused and looked his way with an arched eyebrow. "Sorry to hear that you're slumming."

He laughed and shook his head. "You ain't a Career. Sure, you from Two, but did you volunteer? _Non_."

"No," she agreed. "That much is true anyhow."

"So — you ain't a Career," he said and then grinned lopsidedly her way. "Remy don' ' _slum it'_ , _cher_."

"I'm sure that won't be the story when you win," she said with a shake of her head.

" _If_ dat's de case?" He looked her way with one eyebrow raised. "Dey gon' say I rode in on some very pretty coattails."

"Pretty words," she said with a sigh.

"Dat ain't what I'm sayin' is pretty, _cher_ ," he countered, still grinning.

"I was assuming you're delirious from the soggy-ness of this um … moonlit walk?" She held one hand palm up to the sky and looked up, smiling in spite of herself and the misery of the situation.

He shook his head and laughed lightly. "You in denial, _cher_."

"No, I'd just rather be in top form to do this properly," she said, biting her lip as she gave him a clear once-over. "Not looking like a drowned rat in the rain."

Remy shook his head, though he had clearly picked up on the obvious signals and was grinning wider and wider. "You look good in de rain," he told her. "And I tell you why — you don't gotta lean on dat purple and primping de Capitol gave you. De rain, it wash dat away."

She thought about it for a moment before she pulled on his arm to stop him, then wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him. He didn't even hesitate to return the favor, wrapping his arms around her waist — but almost as soon as they started to get involved, a horrible, wracking scream rent the air and startled them both.

In a heartbeat, both of them had their weapons drawn and ready, and without another word spoken, they started to creep toward the sound, though Remy had to look twice as Betsy seemed to simply disappear into the shadows in the blink of an eye.

She was the one to find the boy from Five — who was in a horrible spot. It looked like he was pinned underneath a large tree, and from the state of his clothes and the way the tree was wedged, it looked like he had been there for a while. But more concerning was the fact that he was simply _screaming_ — not trying to push the tree off of him but instead doing his best to curl in on himself, shaking in pain.

She sheathed her sword and rushed toward him. "It's okay," she tried to tell him — but it was clear pretty quickly that she wasn't able to move the tree in the least. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, but when he was totally unable to do anything but writhe and scream, she called out for Remy and started digging in the soft, red mud to try and free the young man.

When Remy arrived and took in the scene, he frowned on seeing Betsy digging in the mud, his head tipped to one side for a moment before he planted his bo staff and started to use it as a lever to help lift the tree. Between the two of them, they finally made enough headway that Bucky could move a little better, though Bucky still wasn't even trying to help. It took absolutely everything Betsy had to drag him out from under the tree as Remy held it up with the bo staff.

When Bucky kept screaming, Betsy looked entirely flustered trying to find a way to stop him. When nothing came to mind, she took one look at him and, with a frustrated sound, threw an elbow into his face to knock him out — finally ending the screams.

"Remind me not to ask you to do any patchin' up work dat might need doin' after a fight," Remy said, frowning down at the unconscious young man.

"He's going to draw more people in screaming like that," she defended before she looked down at herself and let out a little groan at the amount of mud she had nearly from head to toe.

"Don' worry, _cher_. We gon' get dat soap soon 'nough," he teased her gently as he sat down on the nearest log after the strenuous work of lifting the tree.

"Joke's on them," Betsy countered as she pushed her muddy hair out of her face. "The ladies in the Capitol pay top dollar to get slathered in mud like this." She leaned back with her arms supporting her on the ground and tipped her face up skyward. "How many tributes can say they got a spa treatment?"

"Jus' mebbe three, if we countin' Five," Remy said, gesturing at Bucky. "You know why he screamin'? 'Cause there ain't nothin' broken."

She sat back up and started to look him over a bit closer before she shook her head, but then she frowned and looked back to Remy. "Was there anyone new in the sky?"

Remy's eyes lit up with understanding as he shook his head and glanced at his own arm with a small wince. "Somehow, I ain't surprised," he muttered low to himself.

"Do you think we can move him away from here?" Betsy asked. "I don't want him to have to deal with one of the Careers or … if the Ten girl comes across him... He doesn't deserve that."

Remy paused and tipped his head her way. "You gon' rescue de tribute dey tryin' to kill?" he asked, a funny sort of smile creasing his features.

"I wouldn't mind killing One or her district partner," Betsy said. "That guy is a total creep."

"If we run into de Careers, you take de Ones," he agreed, still smiling at her before he moved to help her lift Bucky. "You sure ain't a Career, _cher_."

"I guess not," she said as she struggled to get a decent grip on Bucky. "But I am a model citizen." She gave him an over-exaggerated grin for a moment before they started to trudge forward.

"Dat's horrible," he laughed.

"The joke or the smile?" She asked, laughing under her breath.

" _Cher,_ if you don' know by now, you best get your ears checked," he chuckled.

"Oh, now you want to play doctor too?" she couldn't help but tease.

"You de one bringin' in strays," he said, starting to laugh in earnest as they pulled Bucky along. "You can't be suggestin' tings like dat and bringin' company home."

"He's not going to stay that long," she said through her giggles.

"Who knows? Mebbe you like him better'n ol' Remy."

"This guy?" she asked with a little frown. "Not clever enough."

Remy let out a delighted sort of laugh at that. "You got good taste, _cher_."

With that, the little trio found a spot that looked dry not too terribly far from their mudbath in time for the rain to at least start to lighten up — a bit. It was still pouring, but not in the torrential heavy sheets that it had been.

"Oh, now it stop," Remy said, gesturing with one hand at the rain. "Dey got a wicked sense o' humor."

"And still … no soap," she said, shaking her head. "I hope you don't mind your partner being mildly dirty."

He laughed out loud. "Oh, mildly," he teased, leaning back easily with a crooked smile that rang with all kinds of trouble.


	29. And the Right Hook

**Chapter 29: ...And the Right Hook**

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

Several of the victors were upset by what had happened to Bucky — but it was clear just looking at Peter Quill that he was beyond upset. He was _incensed._

He was as quiet and serious as anyone had ever seen him as he listened to Tivan gleefully explaining the rules for the poison: the first hit was a "warning," a poison meant not to kill but to force whoever was hit to draw in attention — from mutts, other tributes, whatever else was out there. A second day without any deaths would have more serious consequences, as would a third, and so on.

It wasn't at all the system that the victors had been told, and Quill was _mad_.

"What … who would even _suggest_ something like that?" Sam asked.

"I've got a few ideas," Quill said through his teeth, his gaze never leaving the screen as he ground out, "That kid is _seventeen_."

"Are there any eighteen-year-olds left?" Logan asked, looking more serious than worried as they watched the events unfold.

"Mine," Jess said quietly, frowning at the screen as, almost on cue, her own tribute and Two's girl could be seen investigating the noise.

"There's no way they're using age as their selection criteria," Henry replied as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "Though the chances of someone much younger getting hit with the toxin or venom are fairly high at this point."

Black Bolt lightly tapped Sam's arm and signed something to him, and Sam frowned. "Yeah, good point — we did get a preview."

"Well, it's _not_ random," Rhodey pointed out. "Barnes was trapped anyway. He wouldn't have gotten into a fight if they hadn't drawn someone to him."

"And if it wasn't for those two …" Logan said with a tip of his head as it was clear Betsy and Remy were trying to help rather than finish him off. "He'd be perfect live bait."

"They might as well put him out of his misery," Bobbi said softly as she watched the two tributes try to dig Bucky out. "If it's specifically targeted like that…"

"You like giving up on people, don't you?" Logan shot her way. "Didn't peg you for a quitter."

"Not my tribute," Bobbi shot back.

"And that's all that matters," he replied with a glare.

"You'd rather he played live bait and dragged them down with him while he's screaming like that?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

Almost on cue, there was a muted crack, and the screaming on screen stopped. Logan glanced up to see that Betsy had knocked out Peter's tribute and then looked back at the Two mentors. "All I know is she sure as hell didn't learn compassion from you two."

Viper waved her hand and looked irritated. "It's going to come back to haunt her," she said with a tone of finality.

"Not as much as not having a soul is going to come back and haunt you," Logan answered, totally dismissing her.

"How long do you think it lasts?" Jess broke in before Viper could say anything.

"We'll just have to wait and see," Henry said to the crowd at large, though he gave Charles a significant look before the two of them looked over toward Viper, who was clearly much more entertained now.

Quill shook his head at that and pointedly crossed the room to where Black Bolt was. "Listen, bud, you and I gotta talk about what you got your tribute, because if this keeps up, mine's gonna need it," he said in a low tone, steering the Twelve mentor away from the crowd as Black Bolt nodded his solemn understanding and the two went off in search of a more private setting.

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

Coulson was pretty pleased with himself for pulling together this mission as quickly as he did — with Skye's help, of course.

And because the whole thing was her idea, he'd pulled her in to help run the mission, just so she could see both sides and get a better understanding of how they went from intel to mission work. She'd helped pick the teams out on who went to which district and which family, because, as much as she wanted to help the Awesomes to peek in on their families, it really was too much of a temptation, and they couldn't risk exposing the program when they were getting so close to the culmination of all their plans.

The whole of Tahiti was gathered in the largest briefing room they had, looking excited at the prospect of a mission that required all of them. "You're all early," Coulson said as he looked over the group. "Can't imagine why."

"It's a mystery," Clint agreed with a lazy grin and a nod as most of the other kids sort of smirked around the table.

"This is not an overly dangerous mission," Coulson told them. "And not one of you should be anywhere that will pull much attention, but I ask that for whatever team you're on, you keep the details of your individual assignment to _your team only._ " As he looked around the room at the eager faces, he had to smirk. They would all understand very quickly why he wanted them to stay quiet. He gave Skye a little smile when the first one opened their folder and frowned.

Although Bobbi had been working with most of the kids on covert ops and counter interrogation techniques… some of them did _not_ have poker faces. Peter was practically bouncing in place looking directly across the table toward Kurt and Clint was more or less staring at the file in front of him, falling into a deeper and deeper frown as he did so.

"I'm sure that these assignments may seem slightly of place when compared to the work you've been doing, but I'd like to assure you that this is preparation for the revolution," Coulson said before he glanced toward Skye. "And … a find that I have to credit entirely to Skye."

Natasha glanced up from her file to Skye with an expression that gave nothing away as she asked, almost politely, "Are these considered to be dangerous — or _in_ danger?"

"Not dangerous at all," she answered quickly. "No no. This … these people will be the first that the Capitol will lash out at. I'm 98% sure of it, anyhow."

At that, several of the frowns deepened, and Luke shot a surreptitious glance Peter's way before he closed his file. "Then we're wasting time. Let's keep 'em safe."

"This is just the first step," Coulson said before the kids could get ahead of themselves. "We need to monitor them. We're reasonably sure that they will all be safe until the revolution begins, but we want to know that there are no strong Capitol supporters in the group. Not that it should be an issue with _any_ of these people."

"And even if they are?" Clint asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I just need to know who would need to be isolated when we pull them out," Coulson assured him. "But they will _all_ be pulled out."

"Then I'm with Luke. Let's get moving on this. Sooner the better," Clint said, sliding his file back to Coulson. "How soon can we get in the air?"

Coulson looked over to Skye as he spoke to the group at large. "Transports will be waiting as long as you don't have any more questions for Skye on this." He was smirking her way as she stared at him and tried not to draw too much attention to herself.

But the kids that could usually be counted on for questions seemed to be more or less biting their tongues — whether because, like Peter, they looked like they were ready to burst out with their secret assignments or whether they were processing, it was hard to tell. Still, the whole group of them made for the door, clearly of the mind to get going — except Natasha, who remained seated and perfectly still until the room was clear, her gaze on Skye and giving nothing away at all.

Skye looked up at her, wary, since she knew the girl's reputation. "Hi," she said, waving her fingertips Natasha's way. "Did you want a different assignment?"

"No," Natasha said, shaking her head lightly. "I had a question, but I didn't want the others to hear the answer if I didn't like it." She leaned forward, her fingertips trailing over the file in front of her as she dropped her voice to an almost deadly whisper. "Where did you get the names for these assignments?"

Skye's mouth dropped open the slightest as she took in a breath and glanced at Coulson, who nodded. "I pulled them directly from Ronan's hard drive," she replied.

Natasha's eyes flashed for a moment, but it was the only indication that she was bothered. "And what was he doing with names like this?" she breathed out.

"The Royals don't know a thing about Tahiti," Skye assured her. "I have checked over and over for any indication with a fine toothed comb. This is not that." She rested one hand on the stack of files gathered from the operatives. "This ... is leverage against the victors."

"That really doesn't make me feel any better," Natasha said frankly. "You know these children are thirteen?"

"I know," Skye replied, then let out a breath. "And some of the others are going to protect kids younger than that. Some of them down to four years old. I …. _I_ did not pick out who Ronan and the royals use to make the victors compliant with their unreasonable demands."

Natasha let out a noise in the back of her throat, and her expression twisted into one of loathing as she glanced back down at the file, and at the name 'Wagner' at the top. "You can _not_ tell Kurt these things."

"I had no intention to," Skye said. "That's why we mixed them up — and why Coulson wanted you to keep them to yourselves. You were picked for Kurt's family because we know you won't let it slip who it is that you're helping." She looked much more comfortable talking to Natasha by that time, now that she knew they were more or less on the same page. "Everyone is going to protect people that have been threatened because of one victor or another — and all of them are for victors on our side."

"I'm sure it will be a relief to them when we get these people to safety," Natasha remarked as she stood up and picked up the file to hand it to Skye.

"That's what we're hoping," she replied. "They'll be fighting with us when the revolution starts. We don't need that hanging over their heads while they're doing that."

"You did good," Natasha said to Skye with a little smirk.

"I'm working on more," she replied with almost a proud smile. "But I think that'll be a different team. For _vastly_ different reasons."

"When you do find more names, call me. For whatever you need," Natasha told her, still smirking her way. "If this is what you're working on, I'd like to be part of not only protection... but your _vastly_ different side of the operation as well."

Skye's eyebrows raised a bit, and she glanced over to Coulson, who just smirked wider and said, "I'll be sure keep that in mind, Miss Romanoff, but AD Hill has a team picked out already for that list." Coulson's smirk morphed into a crooked smile as he continued. "She said something about wanting them to know someone was coming for them. Though I'm not entirely sure what that's all about."

Natasha smiled his way, an honest smile. "Lucky team," she said.

"I really wouldn't want to be anyone on that list," Coulson said. "But … if _they_ need backup, I think you'd be a good choice for that assignment."

"Or if you want to switch things up and give them a break for a while," Natasha teased.

"More likely than not, this person won't need a break from it," Coulson said. "But if you want to watch …I know Hill will have a body cam on infiltration. She always does."

Natasha waved her hand. "Maybe I'll take you up — but I'm sure I can find other projects worth my time." She smiled. "Pass on my regards to AD Hill and the director, would you?" she said sweetly as she swept out of the room.

* * *

 _District Twelve_

* * *

Wade knew exactly why he'd gotten Twelve for an assignment. It was easy enough to figure out, plain enough to see … _He was Coulson's favorite_. Clearly. And Coulson wanted him not only to bug the Bishops' house ... for … whatever convoluted reason … but also to make sure that Wade had the opportunity to grab something from Twelve to bring back to sweet, sweet Cassielang.

What that was, he had no idea, but it was happening. Somehow.

He did the mission in an inducer, dressed to look like any one of the miners working there, and he'd timed his arrival just so that he had hit the ground between shifts — so an extra guy milling about wouldn't be too suspicious. But when he worked through the town from the area he'd bugged before, down to the slightly more ritzy area of houses and businesses cobbed up right downtown, he slipped off into an alley to flip off the inducer.

He had frowned to himself when he'd heard that Cassielang's stepdad was a Sentinel, but that didn't mean too terribly much to Wade. He was a _professional._ He could get past one grumpy cop to grab something from her room for her.

 _I hope she was a unicorn lover,_ he thought to himself as he scaled the wall to slip into the Bishop's second story window — since he had to do that before he could move on to Cassielang's surprise.

He was fast, and it was clear before he'd scaled the wall that no one was around, so he tried to keep from humming to himself as he leisurely placed the bugs in every room of the house … well. Not every room. He refused to bug the bathroom, since .. well. _He_ sure didn't want to see Kate's dad with his pants down. Ever.

But the rest of the house … it was a breeze. He did pat a teddybear on the head on what had to have been Kate's bed with a little "Hi there, Tiger." Then, he all but skipped from the room and down the stairs.

From there, it was a matter of slipping out again and finding which Sentinel's house was Cassies'. Which was going to be hard. Because he wasn't entirely sure what the stepdad's name was.

Usually, he was good at details, but this guys' name was like a hundred other Sentinel's names, and he just … it melted into the soggy part of his brain and never really did take root.

So. It then became a matter of breaking into _several_ Sentinel's houses. Which was a little more of a task than he'd set out to do. He had to hide the squeal, though, when he dropped into the fourth house and, after a quick glance around the living room, spotted a photo of Cassie and her mom and stepdad still on the mantle.

He was extra cautious as he made his way through the house, but when it was apparent that no one was home, he switched over to a little more playful tone as he started very quietly singing the Mission Impossible theme song to himself, as he dramatically snuck up the stairs.

When he found Cassie's room, he was grinning for a second, hands clasped under his chin as he just had to let out a sigh. She had been _so adorable._ More so than even now — which was kind of impossible, he was pretty sure.

He took his time looking over the room for something that she would really really appreciate. He looked over the various things on the bookshelf, and then the dresser — mostly appropriate for very small girls, but then …

On the bed, lying on the pillows, was what had to be the ugliest rabbit he'd ever seen in his life. It was threadbare in spots and frankly looked like it belonged in a horror film, but there it was in a place of prominence, so … it had to have been her favorite.

He didn't think twice before he snatched up the rabbit and started to head for the door. He was partway out of her room when he stopped and backed up, looking at the picture on the wall nearest the light switch of a very young Cassie with a man that was most definitely _not_ the Sentinel on the pictures downstairs.

The thought wasn't even fully formed when he just lifted it off the wall and stuck it in his jacket alongside the ugly rabbit.

"Best mission ever," he sang out quietly as he slid down the banister and skipped to the back door.

* * *

 _July 12 - Day Six of the Games_

 _District Two_

* * *

Clint was glad Coulson had given him the names that he had, because it just put everything in place for the suspicions he'd had for a while now. Dating Bobbi … it was fun, but it was also _enlightening_ about a few things. She was a great actress and all, but he wasn't stupid, despite what people might think.

So the fact that Bobbi's family was on this "list" that Skye had composed ... it was the final piece of the puzzle. All he'd been missing was what these people had on her, and this was it.

So for the first time in a while, Clint went into this mission without any of the usual flippant attitude. For as much as he liked to joke around, he was actually trained _well_ , and breaking and entering a house in the nice part of Two filled with civilians? It was the kind of cakewalk he'd usually just float through, but this time, he was a lot more precise about it.

He'd be lying if he said part of it wasn't curiosity, too. Bobbi didn't talk much about herself, not really, so it was interesting to see all the family portraits around the place. Mom, Dad, sweet kid brother who looked like he worshipped his big sister in just about every picture they had of the two of them before her Games…. All of them blonde and grinning.

 _Picture perfect family,_ he couldn't help but think, smirking to himself. Sounded about right for Bobbi.

It wasn't too much work getting the place bugged, especially because, as family of the victor, they spent plenty of time at Bobbi's place, and that was already under surveillance by SHIELD, to keep tabs. Because Fury was one paranoid director.

Clint shook his head to himself as he let himself back out the window of the little home. It was smaller, actually, than he remembered his _own_ home being growing up, but then, everything had looked bigger back then, so he wasn't quite sure. Not like it had been picket fences and smiling family pictures back then anyway, but it was nice to see someone had that in Two at least.

They probably had no idea what Bobbi did for SHIELD. They didn't even lock their back door.

Clint didn't much feel like sightseeing. He wasn't sentimental about Two, and the only nostalgia tour he might have taken was three neighborhoods down and had been one of the homes he and Barney ran from, so he'd rather skip it anyway. So he stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way back to the small jet. He had one last stop to make, this time in the Capitol.

He knew about Hunter; he'd seen the guy around the Capitol when he had been there for his own Games. Nice guy, thicker accent than some of the other escorts, and he seemed to get on well with Bobbi.

Of course, Hunter wasn't exactly home when Clint arrived at the Capitol. The Games were still going on, and anyone associated with them would be out partying or at one of the many massive plazas where Capitolites could gather and watch the Games together, place bets, that kind of thing. So once again, Clint had next to no trouble breaking in.

Hunter had a security system, but it was basic — that was really the only difference between this guy and Bobbi's family.

For a former escort, Hunter's place wasn't too extravagant either. Just the basics: furniture, not much in the way of decorations. The guy lived like a bachelor, if the pizza box in the fridge was any indication.

Since it was only an apartment and not a whole house, this job took Clint significantly less time than the last — about as long as it took him to finish off a slice of cold pizza, actually. He reset the alarm and let himself out, and with that, he headed back to SHIELD, keeping to the shadows as the sound of parties echoed around him and, even outside and in back streets, he could hear the running commentary from Tivan and Uatu on the morning's events, some kind of speculation about how expensive a sponsorship had been.

He wouldn't tell Bobbi a word of the mission he'd been on, but he couldn't help smiling to himself all the way back. He hadn't seen her in a month and a half since the victors were sent back to their home districts ahead of the Games, but ... it was nice to be there for her all the same.

* * *

 ** _District Seven_**

* * *

"Come on, Sin … this is going to be _fun,_ " Jan said as she bumped the younger girl's shoulder. "This is my turf! And it's totally awesome!"

"You've been hanging out with Kate too much," Sin said with a smirk.

"No," she said shaking her head lightly. "I've been away from home for too long, and I _miss it._ " She smiled her way. "Besides, you have an easy one. No one is ever around the orphanage. The kids are out until dark this time of year, and the adults are usually in town while the kids are running wild."

"I could have done something more challenging," Sin sighed.

"Maybe," Jan said. "But you also have more to wire than I do, all things considered."

"Even with that huge house?" Sin asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, I'm not wiring the whole house," she said, shaking her head. "The old man only uses a handful of rooms — his office, his room, and the sitting room. That's all I need to do — and I can't _wait_ to get in that place."

"Why?" Sin scrunched up her nose. "What's so special about it?"

"It's the biggest place in the district," Jan said. "And no one's been invited inside in years! Not since … well. There was a murder …"

"You should have _led_ with that," Sin said, finally showing some interest as she raised both eyebrows and turned Jan's way.

Jan grinned at the opportunity to pass on some well-known local rumors. "The kids all say the place is haunted — and it looks like it from the outside."

"Hard to be haunted when someone's still living there, isn't it?" Sin asked.

"Ah, but you haven't met the Old Man."

"Looks like the undead, I take it?" Sin asked, grinning a little at the mental image.

"No, he's just mean as hell," Jan said. "He pretty much hates everyone."

"That's not a haunting, then. That's just people being, well, people," Sin said.

"That's a person trying to keep up with the devil," Jan countered. "The guy's a piece of work."

"And all I got was rowdy street kids," Sin said, scowling and shaking her head. "Wanna trade?"

"What? You want to go to the sweetest Sentinel's place instead? Because the house on the hill is _mine._ "

"You should learn to share with the younger, less experienced operatives," Sin said with the slightest trace of a snicker.

"Maybe I would if the younger, less experienced operatives shared with me once in a while," Jan said. "You guys hog up all the missions."

"Not my fault you're wrapped up in your idiot genius husband," Sin said, waving her hand dismissively. "Why don't you talk to Kate and Kurt? Give them another year or so, and they can play distracted newlyweds. You can pick up their slack."

"You don't know them very well then," Jan said. "I doubt they'll stop for long — or slow down."

"So ... less than a year."

Jan laughed outright. "Oh, you are funny. Like they could sit still for that long," she said with a grin. "Okay. Have you been to Seven yet?"

"Not on my own," Sin admitted.

"Okay, well, this time of year, it's really easy to sneak around, but everyone is usually outside, so just … take your time moving and keep out of the ferns, okay? They look like a great place to hide, but you so do not want to do that, because that's where the bears hide."

"Got it. Have fun at the haunted house," Sin said with a little smirk and a salute before she headed off into the trees for the coordinates Coulson had given for the orphanage.

Jan shook her head and headed toward the Sentinel's place. Might as well do the sunny side of the mission first. Besides, if what she'd read from Coulson and Skye was right, chances were good that the kids from the orphanage would either be there at the Hudson's place or playing in Groot's garden in the victor's village. Either way, she'd have to take care of that first before dinner time rolled around.

She was a little irritated to see that, while most of the kids weren't there, a couple were — and Mrs. Hudson was outside with them, showing them how to clean the fish that her husband had caught on his day off. Because of course it was his day off. Of course she'd have to sneak around a Sentinel's house in black mission gear while the Sentinel was _inside it._

She shook her head at her luck and snuck in the back door after watching closer to be sure that Mr. Hudson wasn't nearby. She startled halfway through the job when she bumped a bedside table and the Sentinel _in the shower_ called out for his wife at the noise. She stared, wide-eyed, sure she was going to get caught, but when he didn't press, she hurried through her job, praying that the woman outside hadn't heard him call.

As it was, she had to slip into a closet as Heather and the two kids came in and passed through the living room on their way to the kitchen. But the door was left wide open, and she just darted out of it before anything else could happen to give her a closer call.

"I hope Sin's having a better time at the orphanage," Jan muttered to herself as she rushed off between buildings and through the trees on the way to the Howlett house.

* * *

But Sin was not — in fact — having a better time at the orphanage.

She'd had an easy enough time with the building itself, since Coulson and Skye wanted the offices wired. They wanted to know which way the people running the show were tilting, so that they knew how much danger the kids were in. Sin could understand that.

What she couldn't understand was how, after all the hours of training she had poured into making sure she was a good operative, no less than four small girls _still_ managed to sneak up on her as she let herself down from the window of the orphanage. She turned around, and there they were, all of them with hands on their hips, one little blonde clearly in the lead.

"Are you like the other ninja-guys that were here last winter?" the little blonde asked with a scowl on her face.

Sin moved to skirt around the kids — they weren't part of her mission — but they weren't about to let her get away that easily, practically surrounding her as they made sure to cut off any easy avenue of escape.

"Hey. You gonna answer me, or do we gotta do this the hard way?" the blonde challenged.

Sin let out a sigh. "That… it depends on who the ninja-guys were. Were they bad guys?"

"They lit a fire for us after we got away from the bad guys," a little dark-haired girl answered.

Sin was glad that the mask hid her smirk. Yeah, that sounded like most of the guys in the Tahiti program.

"After they dropped a load of logs on the nasty lady," the tiny redhead with freckles across the bridge of her nose added.

"That definitely sounds like my … friends," Sin said with a little nod.

The blonde took a few steps closer, her face screwed up into a scowl. "You don't sound too sure about that, lady."

"I'm not very good at making friends. But I do work with them," Sin tried to explain. "I'm just checking on things here. They're somewhere else right now, probably dropping logs on someone else."

"What's your name?" the blonde asked, crossing her arms.

"I can't tell you that. What's yours?" Sin challenged.

The blonde looked over one shoulder and then back to Sin, and in a flash, the four little girls flat-out attacked her. They took her legs out first, and each of them moved to pin a limb to the ground before the blonde answered her. "I was told to take down strangers that won't tell me their name."

Sin had no idea what to do with this. She could handle bad guys trying to take her down, or sparring partners, but the oldest in this group was, what, eight? What the heck was she supposed to do with _tiny_ assailants like this? "Come on, let me up. I've got to get home."

"Tell me your name first," the blonde said.

"Did the other ninja guys tell you _theirs_?"

"No, but when I told my friend about them, he said I needed to know their _names._ "

"But they were good guys, right?"

"Good guys aren't always good _all_ the time," she replied wisely. "'Specially ones creepin' around little kids."

"I'm not _creeping_." Sin sounded supremely insulted.

"Black ninja suit … sneakin' in a window. Looks an awful lot like creepin'," the redhead said.

"I'm creeping on the people in charge," Sin tried to explain. "Just to make sure they're not mean."

The girls shared a look between themselves. "I think she's telling the truth, Elsie," the dark-haired girl said quietly.

Elsie shot her a look and looked down at Sin. "I'm going to let you up. But if I think you're lying — the whole bunch of us are gonna take you down."

"Great. I'm leaving anyway."

"I thought you were checking out the people running this place," the redhead said with a frown. "We can show you where they like to stay."

Sin paused. She'd already wired the offices, but… "If it's not the offices, that would be good."

"They're not in the offices too much," Elsie said. "But they have a lounge … it used to be an art room."

"Show me."

The little pack of girls led the way through the halls, stopping and peeking around corners almost in formation as they took Sin down to the lounge — which, thankfully, was empty. "We'll watch for you," one of them whispered before the girls did indeed turn their backs and spread out to watch around the corners.

Sin shook her head. What did they _teach_ these girls at this place? But she pushed that question aside for the moment and focused instead on getting the place wired before she turned to the small army of determined little girls. "Thanks, I'm done here. Anyplace else I should know about?"

The girls shared a look and shook their heads. "Not really," Elsie said. "But the next time I see you, you better be ready to give me a _name._ "

"Or you'll take me down again?" Sin asked.

"Hard," the redhead agreed. "We were nice about it this time."

"Well, we'll see if there even is a next time," Sin said, already making a mental note to tell Coulson that he'd better make sure whoever was in charge of getting these kids out of danger was _not_ a secret operative.

* * *

Jan, meanwhile, had slipped into the Howlett place with no trouble. Security was next to non-existent, though she was sure that back when John was in charge of the place, there were a lot more people around — which would have made sneaking in next to impossible.

But with the old man in charge, it was a cakewalk for anyone so inclined to even try. The place was like a museum, which was nice to see, but a little disappointing for someone that had heard all the rumors. No haunting bloodstain anywhere that Jan saw anyhow … and wiring the rooms that Coulson had instructed her to wire was pretty straightforward once she figured out where they were.

Everything she'd needed to do was on the main level, which was also a bit disappointing because the more she saw, the more she wanted to explore. But when her comm went off signaling that Sin had finished up, she let out a little sigh and turned away from the tempting-looking hall of doors and past the grand staircase that was calling her name to just … take a little peek.

If this guy was trouble, there'd be time to poke around later when they set up better surveillance, but if what Jan knew about him was true … that wasn't going to happen. He was just mean. He wasn't a Capitol supporter. Not really. Just mean.

Finally, she slipped out of the house and high-tailed it to the transport. "Your timing is awful," Jan said with a little frown Sin's way when she got there. "I could have used another ten, fifteen minutes. Or more."

"Yeah? Well, I was escaping a small girl army," Sin grumbled, her arms crossed over her chest.

Jan had to laugh at that. "Oh, that sounds _terrible._ "

"It was. They wouldn't let me _leave,_ because I wouldn't give them my name," Sin grouched. "How are you supposed to fight off kids?"

"You could have made a name up," Jan pointed out. "And how could they stop you from leaving?"

"They surrounded me and took a limb apiece," Sin said. "And I _don't_ fight kids."

"Awww, you liked them," Jan said as she reached over and ruffled Sin's hair quickly. "Do you wish you'd been part of a small girl army?"

Sin batted Jan's hand away and glared at her. "Stop that."

"Come on, you should probably tell Coulson about your 'army'."

Sin just stuck her tongue out at Jan but allowed the older girl to set the coordinates as they headed back home.


	30. Looking for Trouble

**Chapter 30: "Looking for Trouble"**

* * *

 _July 12: Day Six of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Clara was up well before the other two members of her alliance, having been on the last watch of the night. She'd let Kamala sleep through her last shift and instead watched all night as the rain had been slowly letting up bit by bit. She'd already decided on her course of action; she had another hour or so before either of them would be awake, and that should be enough time for her to slip out, stalk to where the Careers were camped out, and get this mess over with.

She pulled her gloves on and secured the velcro strapping that held them into place properly, trying very hard to keep the noise of the velcro to a minimum as she made the fine adjustments before she took the last few yards to step outside.

But apparently, the drop off in the rain had made the velcro that much louder in the cave — and of course the light drizzle outside didn't do anything to cover the sound of her footsteps as she tried to creep closer to the exit. So she wasn't entirely surprised when one of her teammates woke up before she could get outside.

"You're not leaving," Scott said in a tone that wasn't even pretending to be a question.

"Not permanently, no," Clara agreed, letting her shoulders drop, since there was no reason to be tense once she'd been busted.

"Not without — well." He paused, seeming to realize that he _couldn't_ offer to go with her. "At least take Kamala. Those traps really will help; she's good."

She didn't want to answer him outright and instead just gave him an incredibly dry look that she knew he couldn't see.

Even blind, Scott knew that she was giving him that look, though; he'd seen it enough times. "I'm serious. You know she'll come after you if you try to go without her."

"Which is why I was going to go ahead — far ahead."

"How's that working out for you?" he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

"Would have worked a lot better if I'd left closer to the beginning of my watch," she admitted. "The rain's nearly stopped."

Scott inclined his head to listen to the rain for a moment, though when he did, he frowned. "Wait a minute."

"What now?" Clara asked with her hands on her hips.

"Not you… There's something out in the rain," he said, this time getting to his feet so he could come over to the cave entrance. "Can you hear it?"

Clara frowned a bit deeper and closed her eyes to concentrate a bit better until she heard the chime. "I'll be right back," she promised before she slipped out into the rain. It was a solid fifteen minutes, and Scott had started to wonder if she'd taken off anyway and left them behind like she'd planned — when she came back, almost laughing, with two boxes in her hands. "Mail call," she told him as she pressed a box into his hands. "That has to be for you."

He looked like he didn't believe her in the least, but he had to peek all the same, honestly surprised at the small box with a '7' on it. "Probably more for you from Creed," he muttered.

"Have you ever seen _anyone_ get more than one delivery?" Clara challenged.

He knew he hadn't, so he frowned and opened the box while Clara gently woke Kamala for the little box with a '6' on it. But once he had it open, he had to admit, he was surprised to find a pair of glasses carefully wrapped in the box, with red lenses — and they looked to be fitted.

Still with that same expression of surprise, he shook his head and tried them on, blinking his eyes open once he'd done so, and he honestly grinned when he realized what the glasses were for. He could see just fine; the light no longer hurt his eyes with… whatever these lenses were made of.

He grinned even wider when he saw the note that came with them, and he glanced up at Clara, holding it out to her. "Told you there was something for you in here," he said, still grinning.

She gave him an odd look and stood up to take the paper. She looked down at it and let her shoulders slump at the message: **Listen to Scott.** With a scowl, she shoved the paper back into Scott's hands. "Your mentor's an idiot," Clara said with her arms crossed. "And that was definitely for your benefit, not mine."

"I don't know — he might be right this time," Scott said, still grinning.

She looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "So … I take it you got a really good pair of shades?"

"Yeah." He tapped the side of the glasses. "Fitted, so they don't let any light in. I don't know what they're made of, but it's _working_ , whatever it is."

"That's great!" Kamala called out as she made her way over, her box clutched in her hands and a _huge_ grin on her face. She dropped to sit beside Scott as she started to divide the contents — a few rolls, along with other food, though she had tucked most of it away for later. "I got a _parachute_ ; can you believe that?" she asked, clearly delighted.

"With your mentor?" Clara asked. "Not really."

Kamala's eyes twinkled, and she handed Clara a little note that had come with her parachute as well. "Well.. _someone_ in the Capitol loves me, anyway."

Clara read it — just a simple ' **Hang in there'** that was written in exactly the same purposeful writing that Scott's note was. She had to shake her head as she looked over at Scott. "Your mentor is _asking_ for trouble."

"It's a constant state of being for him," Scott told her with a small sigh.

"Well .. if this is the way he works around the rules, I'm in favor of it," Kamala replied.

Scott smirked her way for a second before he turned his attention back to Clara. "Looks like we'll have to readjust your battle plans — if you don't mind bringing a couple knife-wielders along."

"Looks like," Clara agreed. "Just promise me you won't let that redhead sweet-talk you again."

"I won't let her trick me again," Scott promised, pointing to his glasses. "I've got a pretty good reminder of what happens if I do."

"Then … let's eat, recharge and regroup — and when you two are ready, we can go after them."

"Great! I can try out my traps; I'm _sure_ they'll help," Kamala said with a wide smile, and there was no mistaking the smirk that Scott shot Clara over the top of Kamala's head for that one.

* * *

Clara wasn't the only one who woke up early that morning with a plan to get to work. America was also up around dawn and ready to get hunting, and the fact that the rain had lessened _and_ Billy seemed to be doing better had her determined to get moving.

She gently shook Kitty awake first and waited for the brunette to blink away the sleep from her eyes before she gestured toward the cave entrance. "So," she said. "Things to do today. We can't stick around here, so we need to move Billy. And I'm going hunting."

"We can use the tarp to move him," Miles offered with a big yawn. "He won't get jostled that way anyhow."

"Great idea," America nodded. "Rain's letting up, too, so we'll need to stick together. I was going to split, but…" She glanced at Billy. "More tributes will be out and about today. Especially considering last night's lack of a cannon." Her gaze hadn't left Billy, and she didn't say it out loud, but she was worried — wondering if they were counting Billy as a kill and just waiting for the poison to finish him off. It would explain why there hadn't been a new cannon blast yet — no new deaths.

"Well, let's get moving then," Kitty agreed. "I agree; I don't want to stick too one place right now."

The three conscious members of the alliance worked together to gather their supplies and then to move Billy onto the tarp — and they could tell he was feeling better when he wasn't wincing and pulling away when they tried to move him. About the time they'd figured out a way to carry him and still let Kitty have quick access to her sword if they ran into trouble, Billy even woke up a little, looking around himself in surprise.

"Floating?" he mumbled, and America looked like she might melt with relief on hearing him speak.

"No, you idiot, we're carrying you," she told him with a smile. "You're such a burden."

"Sorry," he said quietly, laying his head back down, and America grinned that much wider — though by that time, he'd dropped off again.

"See?" Kitty said with a smug look. "Improvement."

"Let's just get moving before this idiot tries to prove you wrong by catching pneumonia out here," America grumbled, even though she was still smiling.

The three of them, still carrying Billy, picked their way through the rocks and mud for the better part of the morning, trying to put distance between themselves and their hiding place before Miles spotted a ridge that looked promising.

It wasn't much more than an overhang at first sight, but the rain had washed part of the rock and sand away to reveal a few hidden caves. The openings had probably been better hidden before the rain, but now, they were easy enough to see — but also hard to reach.

It took some doing, but all three of them were able to climb up to where the caves were, and when Kitty peeked in to investigate, she was surprised to find what was clearly the remnants of another tribute's camp. Whoever had been there must have been injured, because she could see the makeshift remains of bandages and such, but … "It looks abandoned," she called out.

"And if anyone comes back, I'll deal with it," America promised as she set Billy down, making him comfortable. None of them realized it, but they were using the same spot Clara had used to baby Scott only the day before.

"So… if someone was here, that means we must be getting closer to people, right?" Miles asked, and America nodded.

"Soon as we're set up here and we've had a little lunch… we'll try and find whoever was here before us."

Miles looked a little nervous at the suggestion but nodded along, pulling out the dried fruit from his pack and frowning at it. "This isn't going to last us much longer," he admitted. "Not with four of us, if Billy wakes up long enough to eat."

"Once we're through with the Careers, I'll bring you back whatever they've got," America said as if it wasn't even an issue. "And if they've got slim pickings, we'll go out hunting once the rain stops. Gotta be lizards or _something_."

"One step at a time," Kitty said. "Let's get settled in — and then we can go scouting."

"One of us should stay with Billy at all times," America insisted. "If he's on the mend, I want him to eat as soon as he can."

"No arguments there," Miles said with a nod. "I can stay first. I didn't exactly do well in the hunting station."

"And you don't have much for weapons," America pointed out.

"Yeah, that too."

"Looks like it's you and me then, pretty kitty," America said with a grin Kitty's way.

"Isn't that just the way it works? The lionesses do all the hunting?"

"Lazy, lazy lions," America agreed as she swallowed another handful of the dried berries and then downed some water from the bottle. "Ready when you are."

Kitty turned toward Miles as she stood up and stretched. "Do you need anything else before we leave, or are you two boys okay?"

"Well, if you find a nice soft feather pillow and maybe some popcorn while you're out…"

"Right. And a movie projector too while I'm at it," Kitty said, rolling her eyes.

"If you can manage it," he agreed, grinning.

Kitty just snickered as she made her way over to America and the two girls slipped out of the cave entrance. "Let's make this quick," Kitty told her as they left. "I don't want to leave those two unguarded for too long."

"No kidding," America agreed. "Those two are trouble magnets." She shook her head lightly and looked over her shoulder one last time before she let out a sigh and took off with Kitty at a light jog.

* * *

"Welcome back," Betsy said as Bucky opened his eyes and looked around him with a little startle.

The young man from Five groaned a bit and stretched his arms and legs experimentally, watching Betsy the entire time, simply trying to figure out what she wanted. He vaguely remembered seeing her last night, but he hadn't exactly been with it and had no idea what had happened after that tree came off.

"It's incredibly impolite to stare," she told him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm just… trying to figure you out is all."

"You don't need to figure me out," Betsy said. "Are you feeling better? Why were you screaming when we found you?"

Bucky winced and tried to stretch out a bit more. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. "Not sure," he admitted. "I was doing fine, and then right after the parade — _wham_. Felt like everything was on fire."

She frowned at that and offered him her water bottle. "Go ahead," she said. "We have plenty."

He took it gratefully and drank most of the contents, leaning back with a sigh. "Thanks," he muttered out. "You're from Two, right?"

"I am," she replied. "You're Five?"

He nodded. "Yeah." After that, the two of them fell more or less into silence, as it was clear neither of them were quite sure what to make of each other, so it was a good thing when a grinning Cajun burst into their camp with a cheery 'mornin'.

Betsy couldn't help but smile up at him and his positive attitude. "We saved him after all," she told him.

"'Course we did," he said with a light shrug. "What we save him from, _cher_?"

"From anyone else finding him, apparently," she said before she turned to Bucky. "Sorry for hitting you. I had to keep you from drawing in others."

"I'm not complaining," he told her honestly. "Probably saved me _and_ you."

"Yes, I'm certain that's what happened," she said, in some effort to spare his pride a bit too.

"You seen de sky, _cher_?" Remy asked as he swept through the place with that same smile still in place. "De rain, it gon' be done by dis evenin'."

"It looks like it," she agreed, laughing to herself a bit at Remy's unfailing good mood.

"You feel like movin', Five?" Remy asked Bucky, his head tipped to the side as he studied the young man.

"I might be slow, but I think I can go," Bucky said.

"Good, 'cause you were screamin' up a ruckus, and I ain't so sure de rest of de residents of dis here arena gon' be so understandin' as we were," Remy told him as he moved to pack up some of their supplies. He looked to Betsy as he added in a quieter and more serious tone, "Gettin' hard to tell, de way all de sand and stone be shiftin', but we ain't alone."

"Then we should get out of here quickly," she agreed, already getting to her feet.

"Oh, _cher_ …" Remy broke into a bit of a grin as he looked her way and pulled a small box out of his pocket. "Dis come in de mornin' rain."

She looked up with a little smirk and picked up the matchbook. "This will be helpful enough," she said as she started to smile.

"You seen de kind o' matches we get?" Remy asked, the smile widening even further.

She shook her head and opened the box just to break out into laughter when she saw the soap inside it. "Oh, Five — you may need to find your own route..." She grinned wider and gave Remy a quick kiss on the cheek.

Bucky looked between the two of them, clearly realizing that he was missing out on some kind of joke, before he shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. His mace had somehow survived the flood, tied into his belt, but there were angry purple marks along his leg from where his own weapon had been beating against him in the water, and he had a slight limp from it. "I guess if you don't want me to, erm, cramp your style," he said in as offhanded a tone he could manage as Remy and Betsy both looked his way with matching expressions of gratitude and also playfulness.

But before they could say anything else, a strange sort of hissing echoed around the damp valley, and all three of them turned to see a pack of rats that were each at least the size of dogs, their fur black and slicked with mud and their eyes red as they started to swarm the place.

Betsy swore under her breath and drew her sword quickly, holding it in front of her. When one of the rats got too close, she simply started to swing it, one hand in front of her chest while the one holding the sword arced through the air in front of her to slice into the nearest rat.

Remy had more or less done the same, diving into action with his bo staff, their packs dropped on the ground as they fought back the massive rodents. Even Bucky, still nursing his injuries, was swinging his mace as hard as he could, having slightly more success than Remy simply because the mace had more points, and the rats were sturdier than they looked, coming back from anything but a purely lethal hit with seemingly more fervor than before.

"Don' worry, _cher_ ," Remy called over his shoulder as he kicked a massive rat in the skull and followed it up with a hit from the bo staff that sent it flying. "They jus' tryin' to get us dirty so de matches can be _real_ useful, _non_?"

"That must be it," she agreed just before she drove her sword down through another rat's head. Pulling it out was a trick, though, and it was good that they still had Bucky, since he managed to bash one away from her as she struggled to regain her blade.

The problem for the little group was simply one of numbers, as there were enough rats to constitute a swarm, and there were only three tributes to fight them back. The rain wasn't helping, either, and all three of them found out the hard way that losing their footing just brought them down closer to the level of sharp little claws and teeth if they didn't get back up, and _fast._

"As magnificent as you both are to watch," Betsy called out as she spun, trying to take the rats' heads off instead of stabbing them, "We need to run."

Remy nodded his agreement, working his staff at full speed as he ducked and spun in the swarm. " _Alons-y_!" He pointed the way with his staff, but he hadn't taken two steps forward when one of the mutts bit down hard on his left leg — and it was enough not only to break the skin but stop him in his tracks, since he simply couldn't run with the mutt trying to bite his leg off. He cracked the creature over the head for it, but the rats seemed to be encouraged by the blood in the muddy water and swarmed his way, eyes gleaming in the rain.

Remy's staff was practically a blur as he worked to keep the rats off him, but again — it was simply a matter of numbers, and they were working themselves up into a real frenzy, squeaks and squeals echoing in the valley along with sharp cracks from Remy's staff. But it was clearly a losing battle once his leg had given out underneath him and he was down to their level, and they were tearing huge chunks out of him at every opportunity.

When Betsy saw he was in trouble, she rushed toward him, spinning and slashing much faster than she'd done before, grunting with every blow, and dropping the rats as she made her hits, fighting her way toward him. Bucky came up behind her, batting clean-up on the survivors that tried to come up behind her on her way to Remy, but with Betsy in a fury like that, the two of them made up for any lost time fast, and the last few rats made a break for it after she'd knocked one away from Remy and Bucky had hammered another.

The mutts were aggressive, but once they saw that the rest of their swarm was gone — they took off.

She was half covered in mud and fur and blood and bits of God-only-knows-what when she finally dropped her sword next to Remy and knelt next to him, trying to get him to tell her how badly he was hurt.

"Ain't nothin'," he tried to tell her, but the effort it took him to smile gave it away all the same — and the fact that he was covered in bites and claw-marks, bleeding heavily and looking pale.

She covered her mouth with one hand as he tried to lie, but quickly went to work trying to stop the bleeding where she could. "You are _not_ allowed to die on me, Mr. LeBeau."

"You so _formal_ of a sudden, _cher_ ," he teased her lightly. He was half leaned against her, and Bucky had walked a ways away, seeing where this was going and doing the only thing he knew how: giving them some privacy even if Betsy wasn't quite there yet. "'S jus' ol' Remy."

She put one arm around him in half of a hug, bound and determined to keep pressure on the worst-looking bite he had at his chest, and she was totally unwilling to trust him to do that part himself. "We had a deal, Remy."

"Ain't goin' nowhere far," he told her, his head on her shoulder as he seemed content to just lean in on her. "Don' tink you can get rid o' Remy so easy."

She turned her head to kiss his cheek again. "I don't have enough medical…"

"Don' you worry 'bout dat," he told her, his tone completely carefree. "Don' matter none right now. Jus' don' die an' I'll find you soon 'nough."

"I'm not the one bleeding out," Betsy said, shaking her head and failing terribly at not crying.

"Better keep it dat way, _cher_. You gon' mess up all your pretty if you start up wit dat," he said, his voice more of a mumble now as his head drooped against her. He leaned deeper into her until she was the only thing holding him up, and finally, a cannon blast broke the silence.

Bucky had stayed out of the tearful goodbye, keeping to himself and watching for a moment, but when Betsy stayed where she was, even after he could see the transport headed their way, he cleared his throat. "We… gotta go."

She took just a moment longer to try and gather herself up before she took up her sword and stood. Without thinking about it, she turned her back to Bucky for a moment to wipe the tears from her cheeks before she tipped her chin up and finally nodded. "Okay, let's go," she said in a small voice, letting him lead the way.

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

When Logan woke up that morning, it was to an overly excited Jubilee practically bouncing on his bed as she shook his arm. "I _saw_ what you did, and you just… you are so _sweet_!" she declared as soon as he was even halfway up before she threw her arms around his neck.

"Mornin' Jubes," he muttered, eyes still closed as he returned the hug. "What did I do now?"

"They sent the parachutes out this morning," she explained. "That was _so_ sweet!"

"Oh, good," he said, sounding relieved. "I was just doing what I'm supposed to. It worked then?"

"He's all set to go hunting with Clara, and you've got to watch the replay, because he even said nice things about you because you are _so sweet_ ," Jubilee reported to him, still beaming.

"Yeah. Sweet. I'm sure that's what they'll be saying from here on out."

"Don't think I missed what you did for Kamala, either. _That_ was the cutest thing I have seen all week. You made her whole… everything."

He had to smirk at that. "Good. She got a raw deal on a mentor."

"No kidding," Jubilee agreed, cracking a bubble as she nodded. "It really was so sweet." She hugged him again and beamed at him before she finally let him up. "Half the Capitol is just in _awe_ of you right now, mister."

"Then they're easy to impress," he defended as he stretched out and then reached for a shirt. "Always surprised when you act like a human being."

She rolled her eyes at him and kissed his cheek. "Well, I have a date — sorta — and you have some news to catch up on, clearly."

"I'm sure it's a continuation of a date," he replied.

"Just one, long, unending cuddle session watching the Games," Jubilee said with a wide grin.

"Interrupted to come kiss _me_... " He shook his head. "People are going to talk."

"Oh, they always talk," Jubilee said, waving him off.

"Alright, I'll see you later then. Go … work on your _line_."

She grinned at him and gave him a double thumbs-up on her way out the door, which just left him shaking his head at her. He let out a deep breath as he got up properly and started to get dressed to the news — and the reports on the Games. There likely wasn't a damn thing he could do for anyone left in the arena now, so he was in no rush to hurry down and instead took his time catching up and drinking his coffee in peace before the trouble was bound to start.

When he was finally out of excuses to stay away, and he'd gotten the smug smile off his face at Scott's reaction, he headed down to where the rest of the victors were gathered up already — as usual, last to the party.

Almost as soon as he arrived, he was greeted by a purple-faced Schmidt, who seemed to have been waiting for him to get there so he could give him a piece of his mind. "I told you to stay away from my tribute," he snarled.

"And I told you I'm not anywhere near her," Logan replied calmly as he got himself a cup of coffee.

"That parachute was _not_ from Six," Schmidt said, drawing himself up to his full height.

"What gave it away? The legible handwriting or the fact that it went to a girl?" Logan countered, glaring up at him.

Schmidt looked somehow more purple than before as he glared right back. "You can't act without impunity here, boy. Your insolence will catch up to you before you know it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Logan replied low, but not so low that he knew the cameras wouldn't catch it. He tipped his mug up and took a long sip before bothering to address Schmidt again. "The Seven kids already got their parachutes. They weren't getting another one. And the girl is in an alliance with them. I kept it within the boundaries of the rules. I didn't do a damn thing wrong, and you know it. So either step off — or try another angle."

Schmidt just glared at him harder. "If she wins, I'm holding you personally responsible," he said in a low enough tone that no one else would hear it.

"Good. Do that, because there's no way in hell you did a thing to help her," Logan replied just as low, though there was no mistaking the anger in his tone. "It'd do Six some good to have a victor with class anyhow."

Schmidt sneered at him. "As if you know anything about station and class — didn't you lose yours?"

"Even if I did, I've still got more class in my boots than you do in your whole body."

"There is no room for anything but insolence in you, boy."

Logan smirked at him and let out a chuckle. "I'm pretty sure you're mistaking insolence for decency — but from you? Not shocked. I'll buy you a dictionary so you can look up the definitions."

"And I will teach you a lesson in respect," Schmidt sneered as he turned more purple and spun on his heels.

"Nice talking to you," Logan called out in an easy tone, raising his mug as a toast before he headed over to where Jessica and Peter Quill were watching the show while Schmidt stormed off toward Viper and Bobbi.

"You enjoy turning him colors," Quill said, unable to stop the laugh as Logan joined them.

"He's an easy mark," Logan replied as he took a seat. "And he was asking for it."

"No kidding," Jess said, still smiling as they watched the Games with half an eye on the rest of the room. After the initial rush at the start, the sponsors were starting to slow to more of a trickle, and the Games were starting to get a little more vicious — at least, that was how it was supposed to go. For now, the focus was on America actively flirting with Kitty while the two were out hunting.

"Hey — did you see my kid and Black Bolt's are on the mend?" Quill asked with a little smile.

"I did see a little bit on that, but what I saw was mostly chatter on my boy's little group," Logan admitted.

"Yeah, those glasses were a stroke of genius," Quill agreed fervently. "How did you even know to ask for them?"

"He could see; just looked like it hurt," Logan explained.

"I just didn't even know there _were_ glasses like that. Guess I should've figured the Capitol researchers could do it, but ... man."

"I didn't either, but I worked over the right lab rats," Logan admitted. "They seem to take pride in figuring out how to do that kind of thing on a timer."

"The right contacts definitely help things," Jess said, nodding her understanding, though she was a bit distracted as the camera switched focus to her tribute as well as Quill's and Viper's. "Oh. Viper sent them a parachute," she said as she watched Remy pluck the parachute, marked with a '2' from a low overhang and stuff it in his pocket, whistling the morning away.

"What do you think she sent?" Logan asked. "They had everything they needed."

"I… I'm not sure," Jess admitted, though it was clear she had an idea of it — and when Remy returned to the hideout and tossed Betsy the matchbook so she could see the soap inside, Jess' expression shifted, and she started to swear under her breath.

"Well, that ought to bring 'em some attention," Quill muttered with a smile.

"That's not… this is _not a game_." Jess was just staring at the screen as if she couldn't quite comprehend it before she turned a heated glare toward both of the women from Two as Viper looked _highly_ entertained by the whole thing and even gave Bobbi a small pat on the shoulder that told Jess her friend had been in on it.

"That's disturbing," Logan muttered. "Thought she was alright."

"She's been spending more time with Viper," Jess said with a sigh.

"Is this a cyclical thing? Something that happens every year?"

"It's … Viper stayed home last year, and the year before was Bobbi's. I don't know what to tell you except that Viper was her mentor, so she's been taking a more active interest."

Logan didn't look too convinced of it though. "So she _is_ going back to her slimy mentor."

Jess gave Logan a look for a moment and lifted one eyebrow. "Yes. Officially."

He returned the look for a moment and nodded. "We'll see how that washes out." Though it was plain to see he just didn't believe that anyone spending that much time with Viper _purposely_ was trustworthy.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

In another section of the arena, the two girls stealthily looking through the rocks hadn't found any tributes while they were out hunting, but America and Kitty _did_ manage to find two jackrabbits, so at least they would have something more substantial to eat for dinner than the dried fruit Miles had brought.

"This isn't gonna fill us up much — not split four ways," America said with a sigh, the jackrabbits slung over her shoulder as they made their way back to camp. "But it's a start, anyhow."

"Little bit of meat will be nice after all the fruit — not that I'm complaining," Kitty said.

America grinned her way and nodded. "Pretty sure there's something bad about not having enough protein in your diet. Billy could tell you that stuff."

They were nearly back to where they'd left the boys when they heard an unmistakable " _Help_!"

Both girls glanced at each other in alarm — that was Miles' voice — before they broke out into a run, Kitty already drawing her sword. When they rounded the overhang to where they had left the boys, they saw immediately that both of their allies were in deep trouble. Billy was awake but wide-eyed as Jean was simply seated comfortably beside him, one hand on his shoulder to keep him down, since he was too weak to fight her, and watching as Trevor menaced Miles, who was backed against a wall and couldn't get close enough to use _any_ of what Logan had taught them. Whenever he tried, Trevor would almost lazily toss a throwing star his way — though to Miles' credit, he was doing an excellent job dodging.

"Get that girl away from Billy," America half growled to Kitty, already sprinting toward Trevor, who made the mistake of trying to stop her with a star — which only made her more ticked off when it cut a long path across her cheekbone a second before she slammed both fists into his stomach and kicked him in the side for good measure. He let out a high-pitched sort of noise and tried to bring a long blade down on her, but she kneed him and then grabbed his wrist to twist as hard as she could, eliciting a low whimper as he crumpled.

"You like playing?" America practically sneered in his face as she twisted harder, and there was a dull sound of bones cracking as he wriggled in her grasp. "You like picking on defenseless kids?" She punctuated the question with another hard kick to his sternum that echoed in the valley, louder than the dwindling rainstorm.

The boy from Three had no way to defend himself against America's onslaught, and to top it off, America could see that Miles had a few cuts. Nothing serious, but the fact that the little kid who couldn't even wrestle his tarp into place was bleeding set her over the edge, and she simply pounded on Trevor in a nearly blind rage, the brass knuckles ringing out with every crack as he stopped fighting her in any way that could be considered effective a good few minutes before the cannon rang out.

And meanwhile, Kitty had crept around to a different side to sneak up on Billy's tormentor. She shoved her way forward to crack the redhead in the mouth as she raised her bow in Kitty's direction, and when she made contact, Jean stumbled backward and the arrow in her hand clattered to the ground. Before she could get up, Kitty dove on top of her and just started to pound on her as best she was able, though Jean didn't stay down for long, and she managed to swing her bow around and crack Kitty in the side of the head with it.

It wasn't much, but she had knocked Kitty off-balance enough that she hit her again with the bow, managing to push the brunette off of her.

Both girls scrambled to their feet and Jean was panting hard as she looked between the group of tributes left in the cave. She knew there was no way she was going to be able to fight her way out of all of them. So, in a mad rush, she slipped the bow over her shoulder and made a run for the door, bodychecking Kitty hard on her way out and barely missing the grab America made for her as the bloodied girl from Twelve stood from Trevor's still form.

America swore loudly after Jean as she retreated, but she didn't want to chase the redhead down, not with Miles looking like he might lose his cookies and Billy awake and terrified and Kitty — she looked okay, but still.

With a sigh, America looked down at the unrecognizable dead boy and relaxed her arms. "Alright then."

"Want help taking the trash out?" Kitty asked as she rubbed the side of her head.

"I got it," America said, already seizing Trevor's arms. "You make sure Miles doesn't—" Before she could finish, the youngest member of their alliance doubled over, retching, and she winced. "Do… that. You okay, Miles?"

"No," he moaned, and America looked a little self-conscious as she dragged Trevor out — making sure to stand in the rain for a while to get Trevor's blood off of her. That wasn't exactly the scene she'd wanted Billy to wake up to.

When America came back, she was glad to see that Miles looked a little less green — Kitty was sitting with him — though she made sure to check on Billy first. "How you feeling?" she asked.

"Tired," he admitted, looking around the little group. "And really, really sore."

"You've been out of it for a while," America told him gently.

"Yeah, apparently." He glanced around at the other two once more before he raised his hand in a tentative wave. "Hi. _Ow_." He frowned down at his arm, realizing suddenly it was his injured one.

"Try not to stress yourself," Kitty said. "We've been trying really hard to keep you alive, okay?"

"Thanks, I guess," he said, putting his hand back down as he frowned for a moment and had to ask, "When'd you get here?"

"Um. Couple days ago," Kitty replied. "Are you thirsty?"

He nodded tiredly. "Should be… water in the bottle, if America's been doing it right."

"It's been raining, Billy," America told him. "You missed that too."

"Oh." He nodded quietly to himself. "Yeah. That's much easier than my way."

"What way was that?" Miles asked, curious now.

"He had it set up that we'd set out a tarp overnight, gather the condensation. It was pretty genius," America said, grinning over at her district partner. "Hey, gorgeous — did our rabbits survive the fight?" she asked suddenly, turning Kitty's way.

"They absolutely did, beautiful," Kitty replied with a smirk.

"Great. We can have some stew," America decided. "That should stretch those bony things — and Miles needs to replenish anyway."

Miles leaned back and slowly shook his head. "Yeah… thanks for the save and all but… yeah."

"I'll try not to kill anyone so close to you next time," America promised him with a small smirk.

" _Try_. Doesn't mean that'll work."

"I can't make any promises. I don't like people who pick on little kids," America said, her eyes narrowed. "Especially defenseless ones."

"I could've had him if I could've gotten close," Miles defended.

America smirked. "How about you try practicing with some of those," she suggested, gesturing to the throwing stars Trevor had left behind. "If you're any good, I kept the rest, and you need a weapon."

"You're all heart, you are," Miles said, grinning her way.

"Shut up."

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

Kurt had just returned from Five, where he had been sent to set up some surveillance on Peter Quill's foster father, Yandu, when Kate came running up to meet him in the hangar, grinning from ear to ear and bouncing on her toes.

"I have just… _so_ so much to tell you," she said, taking his hand to pull him into a quick kiss 'hello.'

He had to grin at her as he returned the kiss, one arm around her and soaking in her total enthusiasm. "Clearly," he said as she continued to _beam_.

"I mean, I don't even know where to start, but… Pete's back from Nine, and he's actually sorta kinda in a good mood watching the Games, and you should so see why."

"He's in a good mood from watching the _Games_?" Kurt asked in disbelief.

The grin seemed to be threatening to split her face, and she kissed his cheek. "Yes, my adorable Elf. I know it's mind-boggling, but you've got to see it for yourself." With that, she seized him by the hand and took him along behind her, practically skipping. "Ooh. And later — I'll have to tell you about _Charles_."

"Is there something wrong with Charles?" Kurt asked as she pulled him along.

"Nope. Nothing wrong at _all_ ," she said brightly. "He… he has _very good taste_. I totally approve."

"Of …"

She turned in place and kissed him right there in the hallway. "Oh, his _lady friend_ ," she said airily.

"Oh?" Kurt said with a growing smile. "His lady friend? Who is she? Did you meet her?"

"I didn't get to _meet_ her, necessarily. I did get to see her apartment, and oh my gosh, Kurt. There are love letters. _Love letters_. She kept _all of them_."

"You read their love letters?" he asked in disbelief.

She looked insulted. "I did not! All I needed to see was 'My darling Charles' and I knew what it was. Give me some credit."

He tipped his head to the side for a second and grinned impishly. "I would have read them."

She looked honestly surprised for a moment before she laughed. "My sweet little snooper," she teased him as she kissed his cheek. "You so would…. But I had a job to do, Kurt. I couldn't read _love letters_ while I was taking care of Charles' secret girlfriend!"

Kurt chuckled and shook his head. "Is that all then? Secret love letters that you didn't read?"

"Well it's not like they can really do much more, what with her being Seven's _escort_ and the whole thing being a big no-no," Kate said, her eyes sparkling with trouble.

Kurt looked genuinely surprised, and his grin threatened to split his face. "So Seven has a reputation for rule-breaking that extends even to their support crew in the Capitol; that is what you're telling me."

"Oh, clearly," Kate agreed with as serious an expression as she could manage before she dissolved into giggles. "It's so sweet, Kurt. They're adorable, and as soon as the revolution starts, she'll be _here_ , and he can date her properly, and if there are not candlelit dinners by day two, we are going to have to _do_ something about it."

"I'm sure Charles will be more than ready to take matters into his own hands," Kurt said with a little chuckle.

"He better," Kate agreed as the two of them finally reached the rec room, where the Games footage was showing the alliance of Miles, Kitty, America, and Billy sitting down to eat some kind of meat together. Billy was up and talking, albeit not making too much sense at times — and Miles kept up a steady stream of good humor.

Kurt glanced at the screen and then back to Kate. "I'm glad Billy's up," he said, thinking that was at least part of the good news, but Kate beamed at him.

"That's just the cherry on top," she assured him, pulling him by both hands to join Peter on the biggest couch.

Peter glanced up when they entered and even gave them a little smile. "Oh good. You found him. I thought he was going to miss the commentary."

"Commentary on what?" Kurt asked.

But Peter just waved his hand to shush him and gestured toward the screen as the image of the little alliance shifted to a box in the corner, and Tivan and Uatu started up their commentary, gleefully announcing the formation of the "second Team Awesome."

"You have to admit the makeup is similar," Uatu said, and Tivan just beamed, nodding along.

"Twelve and Nine, not to mention a Spider-man to join the alliance late in the game… spooky!" Tivan agreed.

"With a beautiful fencer from Nine and one tribute doing the killing?" Utatu smirked. "I'm just waiting for the start of a doomed romance, and we'll have all our pieces."

"Doomed. Ha. Says you," Kate told the television screen, proving her point by nuzzling into Kurt and planting a little kiss at the base of his jaw.

"Wait, wait," Peter said, waving at her. "They were playing a clip from Logan while you were gone. Let's see if they…" He let out a little 'aha' of triumph as the two Capitol commentators pulled up some footage that looked like it had been grabbed while Logan was working with the other mentors, since Jess and Quill could be seen in the background talking with people as well.

Logan looked slightly irritated as the interviewer asked her question about what he thought of the 'new' Team Awesome. But he narrowed his eyes at her question and drew in a deep breath before he smirked slightly with his answer. "You've got a single-minded hothead, a kid that is so much like Parker it's painful — and they're runnin' around with a Twelve and a Nine. That last pair on its own is a solid match."

"See-e-e-e-e?" Peter gestured at the screen with a little smile on. "See? Me and Logan. We _knew_. From day one."

"He also just said that the boy from Eleven is so much like you it's _painful_ ," Kurt pointed out.

"Yeah, he loves me. _He misses me_. It's so sweet," Peter agreed, the smile widening. He leaned back against the couch. "They've been replaying today's news while all the tributes are going to sleep. It looks like the action has died down." He frowned the slightest bit as he said it before he took a deep breath and shook it off. "Your friend is kind of terrifying, Kate."

"She really is," Kate agreed, nodding fervently.

"It's been a day full of news … Career pack is down to one, since the girl from Two is making a point to distance herself totally," Steve said with a smirk.

"And Logan's tribute got some spectacular glasses — I think that was at the beginning of the day when we were all in the briefing," Peter said. "I'd love to see how they work."

"I thought he was blinded," Kurt said with a frown.

"Apparently not," Peter said. "Just hurt to open his eyes — so Logan found him some… well, they're sort of like sunglasses, only better fitted and red. Pretty neat. I'm sure there's something about the material that refracts the light to let him see without letting in enough to hurt…"

"You know how those gifts are in the arena," Kurt replied. "They're either so basic it's painful, or they're loaded with surprises."

"Don't have to tell me," Peter agreed, thinking of the syringe Norman had sent him in their Games before he cleared his throat. "Anyway, Kamala Khan got a parachute too."

" _Not_ from my father," Sin said from where she was sprawled out nearby, a book in hand. She hadn't looked like she was paying attention in the least until then, but when they looked her way, she looked entirely serious.

"Is that a bad thing?" Kurt asked. "That she got something she needed?"

"No." Sin sat up and looked his way. "But you know the Red Skull is going to be mad about it. It's no secret if he didn't send it, your friend did."

Kurt frowned and shook his head. "I'm not sure how he would have done it."

"Well, he did, because my father doesn't send parachutes to girls. I only got one because he felt _obligated_ ," Sin said, sounding more bitter than she probably meant to.

"You don't know that for sure," Kurt said. "He may have done it…."

"No. This — this is the man who threw me _out_ for being a girl," Sin insisted.

"The notes in the boxes for the glasses and the care package were in the same writing," Peter said with a grin. "Loopholes. Gotta be Logan found a loophole."

"He's really good at those," Kate agreed, grinning to herself. "And seriously, it's Logan. We really think he's gonna let something like _rules_ stop him from helping a tiny little girl like that?"

Kurt had to agree with that. Especially after meeting the army of Logan's little girls. "As long as he doesn't put more of a target on himself."

"He'll be okay," Kate assured him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "He's Logan."

"That's not exactly an explanation."

"It so is," she replied, starting to kiss his jaw just to stop him arguing with her. "I'm totally right on this."

"You are _not_ , but you are also playing dirty," Kurt muttered. "So … I'll ignore that your explanation is so light."

She giggled and kissed him some more as the others in the room rolled their eyes. "Can't you two take it somewhere else?" Sin drawled.

"Yes. Go. Continue to prove Logan and I right on the Nine-Twelve thing," Peter said, waving them off.

Kate laughed at that. "You're so not responsible for this, Peter," she told him.

"I didn't say I was responsible," Peter clarified. "I said … I _called it._ "

She grinned at him, shook her head, and climbed up off the couch. "You'll let us know if anything exciting happens?" she asked Peter.

"Whenever you re-emerge, yes," Peter agreed. "But I'm not breaking into that mess."

"Why, Peter Parker," she said in a falsely scandalized tone. "We're not allowed to do anything _too_ involved. You know that!"

Peter simply smirked her way. "All the more reason for me _not_ to be the one to catch you not doing said involved … things."

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

13\. Remy LeBeau, District Eight Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

12\. Trevor Slattery, District Three Male - Killed by America Chavez


	31. Drawn Out

**Chapter 31: Drawn Out**

* * *

 _July 13: Morning of Day Seven of the Games_

 _Presidential Palace_

* * *

It wasn't too surprising for Fury to receive a summons to the presidential palace, especially as the Games were really starting to get moving, with half of the tributes out of the running. The rain was scheduled to stop as well, which would open up more opportunities for the tributes to find each other — but none of that was why Thanos had summoned Fury to his office that morning.

Frankly, the president was bothered by the apparent repetition — another Team Awesome didn't sit well with him. It was too much collaboration between the districts, too much unity. Add to that the fact that the fierce Creed he'd been promised was _babying_ her allies, and Thanos was _not_ happy with the way the alliances were shaping up.

Nor was he happy about the newest victor, who seemed to be working the rules at a level that he should not have been able to do during his first year, not only getting his own tribute a _substantial_ gift but somehow getting one for both of his allies. Thanos knew that the boy had been involved in Clara's too; Creed didn't have enough friends left in the Capitol. Not ones with money, and not ones that could be on the approved sponsor list in the Capitol. The man's allies had been blacklisted, after all.

So when Fury arrived, it was to find the president in a deeply settled glare, which was never a good thing for anyone summoned to his office.

He came to a stop in front of him and waited for instruction, as was the usual way of handling the President when he was in a mood like this.

"They're calling it the second Team Awesome," Thanos murmured out at last, turning to Fury. "I was promised a much more violent Games, but the Careers crumbled yet again. They had no teeth to their talk." He glared harder as he added, "And the Creed girl still isn't dead — or playing the game."

"The alliance with the Twelves is being overplayed," Fury said calmly. "They won't last nearly as long as the alliance from last year, and the Careers … well. I can't defend them. All signs pointed to them being much more formidable — though losing the big guy from Four so early on was a severe blow." He took a breath and carefully weighed his words. "The Creed girl was always slated to die. She _won't_ make it out."

"See that she doesn't. You've been wrong about every other promise you've made to me for this Quell," Thanos said, still glaring beyond Fury. He seemed to take a breath and paused, though. "Now… the poison, on the other hand. It's a good touch. You aren't using it to its full potential. That Five boy should have died in agony."

Fury nodded. "The intention behind it was to draw tributes in for the kill, but I'll make sure that the next one sticks."

"Make sure it's one from those annoying alliances," Thanos said. "The loners don't quite do the job — and they seem to be the only ones playing the game at any rate."

"Yes, we were planning on using it to break up the Twelve alliance. Take their hope first, then kill one of them."

Thanos smirked, just the slightest bit. "Good." He folded his hands in front of himself as he seemed to move on. "Now. That victor of yours. I told you to control him."

"He's run out of tricks to pull," Fury said. "Both he and his tribute are cornered, and when his boy dies, Howlett will lose many of his supporters."

Thanos nodded, looking thoughtful. "He's attached," he said. "You aren't exploiting those attachments as well as you could — there are plenty there to utilize."

"I'll lean on a few of them. Just to cover my bases," Fury agreed. "Do you have a preference?"

Thanos waved his hand. "Any will do. Just get him under control. His ingenuity is good to see; I'll use him at the palace later. But it must be directed."

"Yes, sir," Fury agreed.

Thanos nodded and then waved his hand in a clear dismissal of the director. "If these Games continue to be so… lacking, you will _not_ be back next year."

Fury didn't have anything to respond with for that — and he knew it wasn't expected, particularly since he'd already been waved off. He was halfway to the Triskellion before he got to his comm. "Coulson, get Logan to my office. Now."

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

The previous day had been a bust for Clara, Scott, and Kamala. The Careers had already moved on from their camp, and in the rain, it was difficult to find where they'd gone off to. But someone else had clearly run into them — since Trevor's face had been in the sky that night.

"So," Clara said when it showed up in the sky. "One left for us to take down."

"You gonna be okay with that?" Kamala asked, her gaze on Scott, but Scott just nodded.

"Let's just focus on finding her," he said with a determined sort of frown.

Clara had already decided that she would take Jean out if Scott couldn't do it, but she wasn't advertising that fact.

"Do you think the rain's done for good?" Kamala asked when the conversation had fallen into enough of a lull that she couldn't stand it anymore. They had been walking in silence for most of the morning since breakfast, and while she had total confidence in Clara's ability to track down the Careers … or, the Career … there were other considerations.

"Likely," Clara replied. "They gave us enough to drown with. We probably won't see any more."

Kamala nodded quietly and screwed the cap back on the water bottle to put it in the backpack. "Guess we're back to conservation," she said with a small sort of smile.

"We'll be fine," Scott assured her, still following close behind Clara. "We were fine the first few days, and we'll be fine now."

"Besides, you'll probably be out of here before we need to really worry about it," Clara said, her attention clearly more on their surroundings.

Kamala stopped with a little 'oh.'

Scott shot Clara a little glare when he realized what Kamala had misinterpreted. "She means the Games will be over by then," he told her.

"With a new Six victor," Clara said as if it was the clearest thing in the world. "That's what I said."

Kamala looked between the two of them before she nodded quietly. "That means I'll be dealing with the big red guy every year," she said, making an exaggerated face in an attempt to regain some of her good humor.

"Yeah, but you'll have Logan to help you," Clara replied with a little shrug. "You'll be fine."

"Well, and my escort is pretty awesome too," Kamala agreed, smiling.

"She seemed nice," Scott agreed, though he didn't remember much of Six's escort except that she usually walked Kamala up to the roof while they had been in the Capitol.

"See? Fine," Clara said with a shrug before she stopped and frowned at the walls of the canyon around them. "Does that … are the walls moving?"

Kamala let out a little squeak and slipped closer to Scott and Clara, and Scott glanced around with Clara, frowning hard in the split second before a large, brown, slimy salamander pounced on him — with another three slithering seemingly out of the rocks themselves.

Scott and the salamander went into a roll as the surprisingly strong jaws snapped an inch from his face. He didn't have the staves that Clara had given him anymore, but he had a long dagger, and he managed to get that between himself and the salamander, one arm raised in defense as he tried to keep the jaws from snapping around anything important as he drove the blade into the center of the slippery creature.

The creature let out an unearthly sort of noise, but it seemed to try harder to pin Scott down, four slippery legs clawing at him as he kept fighting to get out from underneath the creature, though it was slippery enough that he was having a hard time finding purchase.

He finally managed to yank the dagger free, and it made a slick squelching noise as he did so. He could feel the creature's blood slicking the ground beneath them, though the sharp claws raked over his arm, and he let out a harsh cry before he drove the dagger up through the salamander's neck, all the way to the hilt, just beneath its jaw, where it was less protected.

For another few moments, the salamander trashed before, finally, it fell still, and Scott heaved it off of him with a mighty shove, looking immediately to where the girls were so he could dive in and help.

Clara, meanwhile, had made sure to try and keep Kamala behind her as she clawed at the creatures. The best thing about her clawed gloves was the simple fact that she was unable to drop them or hold them wrong, so any swipe she made was a good one that ripped open the salamander mutts with a tearing noise.

The heads were incredibly hard, though, and it wasn't too long before Clara realized that going for the salamander's head was just wearing her out, so she dove forward to land on top of the thing before she sunk her claws into its belly and tore it wide open. "Avoid their heads!" Clara shouted as the one she was on scrambled to get away, leaving a bloody mess in its wake.

"They've got glass jaws, though," Scott said as he joined the other two, splattered with black blood. "If you get them from underneath."

"I'll try it," Clara called out as she slashed at the next one that came at her.

Kamala, meanwhile, was faring pretty well, considering. She had a knife of her own and slashed at any salamander who got close — though it seemed most of them were off-set from trying to get to her when both Scott and Clara were so fierce about keeping them away from their smaller ally. But she also wasn't going to sit around and let those two do everything for her.

One of the bigger salamanders rushed toward Clara, its jaws snapping angrily when Clara responded with her claws, and Kamala saw her opening when Clara's hard hit knocked the creature sideways. She darted forward, away from Clara, and drove the knife all the way into the creature's jaw, in the spot that Scott had pointed out.

The big brown creature stilled, and Kamala stared down at it, her eyes wide as she was suddenly overcome with a rather queasy feeling.

"Nice job," Scott said as he came up beside her. With one salamander badly injured and retreating, there was only one left, and he and Clara handled it easily enough. It couldn't fight an attack from both sides, and when the dazed creature backed away from Clara's shining claws, it only found Scott there ready to slice the underbelly as Clara had done — and then Clara was there right beside Scott to help finish the job.

They thought they had the salamander mutts well in hand when the biggest one they'd seen yet appeared seemingly out of nowhere and positively bowled Clara over. The hard landing into the rocky though still wet ground knocked the wind out of her, and she only barely got her right hand up to sink her claws into the flesh under the salamander's chin before it started snapping its jaws, trying to get a bite on her. She didn't realize at first that it had stepped on her other arm until she tried to pull her arm out and realized that she was pinned — and losing ground as the strength in her right arm began to wane.

She tried to kick it off of her, but between its slippery skin and the thing's sheer size … she just couldn't do it.

So it was a surprise when the creature suddenly listed sideways. Apparently, Scott had decided to simply rush it, his shoulder to the mutt to push it off of her and flip it sideways as he went — with Kamala's knife and his own dagger in hand as he jammed both of them into the bottom of its jaw, up through its brain.

When the salamander finally stopped thrashing, Scott glanced up at Kamala and Clara and stood back up to hand Kamala her knife back and then offer Clara a hand up. "You okay?" he asked.

She waited until he'd pulled her up to her feet and then wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He was clearly surprised by the move but returned it as best he could with an embarrassed, "I'm covered in blood, Clara."

"I don't care," she said quietly.

He cleared his throat and took a step back at last, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at Kamala. "Hey, you okay?" he asked when he saw that she looked a little pale.

"I'm _fine_ ," she assured him, and even though she looked a little off, she was grinning _widely_.

"Right." He put the dagger away and looked around the valley. "Let's get moving before more of those things show up."

"Hopefully, that's the last of them," Clara said as they started to walk. They hadn't gone far, though, before Clara looked up to the bright sun. "I think we should find some shade," she said. "I don't … I don't think I can hold up to another attack right now."

Scott frowned at that and took another step closer to her. "You get hit?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm dizzy," she said. "Not terrible, but still."

Kamala rushed over too, her eyes wide. "You can lean on us if you need it," she offered without hesitating, and Scott nodded absently as he looked her over.

Clara tried to wave off their concern, knowing that Scott was probably going to make a bigger deal of it than she wanted him to. "It's not that bad, I just .. don't think the heat is helping me much."

"Let's try along that ridge, then," Scott said, pointing to the closest area that looked viable. "I want to take a look at that arm if it's bugging you that bad."

"Sure," she said, nodding a little bit to herself. "Lead the way, fearless."

Scott and Kamala shared a look behind Clara's back before they headed off toward shelter, with Scott frowning at Clara the whole way and watching her for any sign that she was hurt more than she let on — which wouldn't surprise him in the least.

By the time they found a small crevice they could use for shade, he was downright concerned, and when he saw the deep claw marks on her arm, he shook his head, digging in the backpack for the scraps of fabric they had dipped in water earlier for his burns. "That looks bad," he said.

"It's just a scratch," she replied, though she didn't pull her arm away.

"If that's a scratch, then I got a sunburn from Jean," he countered, already working to clean it. It was hard to see his expression properly with the glasses, but the deep frown made it clear he was concerned on her behalf.

"I just got … slime in it," she said, though she didn't really sound like her usual snarky self as she leaned against the rocky wall.

"Kamala, can I use the water for a minute?" he asked, holding out his hand without really looking up, and Kamala very quickly nodded, hovering close by with wide eyes as she winced in sympathy when Scott ran some of the water over the cuts.

Finally, when Scott felt like he'd cleaned the cuts thoroughly enough, he started to wrap, glancing up every once in a while at Clara to see how she was until he was finished. "Alright. We're staying here until the sun goes down," he told them both.

"Good idea," Clara agreed, then slid down the wall and tried to lay on her side. "Wake me up if you spot that girl, would you?"

"I'll have Kamala let you know," he said with the slightest smirk before he patted Kamala on the shoulder. "I'll take a quick look around. Shout if you need me."

And for the first time since they teamed up, Clara didn't argue but nodded, mostly to herself, as she simply closed her eyes and started to drift off.

* * *

Since the sun had come back out, and with it the oppressive heat, the "second Team Awesome" hadn't been able to do much out in the open. Billy was doing better, but after they'd finally nursed him back to health, relatively speaking, America wasn't about to subject him to dehydration.

They did move to a new place before the morning had settled in too much. After all, the Careers had ambushed the last place — and with America and Kitty unable to find a trail on the last Career, it was better to just start over.

"I still can't believe I missed all the cool days — weather wise, I mean," Billy grumbled as the sun _finally_ started to set and America was already pulling out his tarp water-gathering system to set out before she took Miles to go hunting. She wasn't about to leave Billy and Miles alone again after what had happened last time, so she or Kitty stayed at the campsite to watch out for the boys at all times.

"You were in your own little reality," America said, waving him off. "Probably better than the rest of us, really. Miles here nearly got swamped, isn't that right, Spider-boy?"

"Nearly?" Miles raised an eyebrow.

"Sad little half-drowned spider," America sang his way, though there was no mistaking the teasing tone in her voice.

"Please don't sing that song," Miles said. "Please?"

"I wasn't gonna since the _whole_ thing, but now you're just asking for it," she teased.

"You really shouldn't torture your allies," Billy said, though he was grinning too.

"Save it for the Careers — and whoever else we end up fighting, then? Got it." America grinned at him and ruffled his hair affectionately.

Billy tried to bat her away and gave her a glare as Kitty rejoined the group as well, back from a quick patrol of the area. They hadn't talked about it, but the truth was, there hadn't been a cannon, and they were all keeping an eye out for any sign of other tributes — in case someone came to make a last-minute kill to stave off a poisoning.

Though… the last time, there hadn't been an immediate cannon. There hadn't been anything until the next morning. And they weren't talking about that, either.

"Anything?" America asked, and Kitty just shook her head. She let out a sigh. "Maybe I should go hunt someone down and come back?" she muttered in a low tone to Kitty. "Pretty sure there's a Ten out there somewhere too… and the Two girl, even if she's not with One…"

"If there is a Ten out there," Kitty said quietly. "Do you think we can hold her off?"

"You and me? Sure," America said with a little shrug. "The full crew?" She tipped her head to where Miles and Billy were joking around with each other. "Miles is more likely to hit one of us with his stars than what he's aiming at."

"Fair point," Kitty agreed. "What about the Sevens? I'm not concerned at all about Scott — he's a good guy. But the girl …"

"If she's anything like her brother now that the Games have started, I'm really not going to feel bad about punching her face in," America said. "But she was nice enough when I… 'visited' Seven with my stylist."

"Kamala said she invited her into their alliance," Kitty replied.

"You're making it real hard for me to find somebody to kill, pretty kitty," America grumbled.

"Not my intention, Miss America."

America smirked her way and bumped shoulders with her. "I'm going to do one more check, be back before the parade, one way or another," she told her in a low tone. "If I can't find anyone…"

"I'll keep the boys safe while you're gone," Kitty promised. "As much as they can be anyhow."

"You and that sword of yours should be plenty," America told her with a grin.

"Provided that the stupid between them doesn't multiply, you mean."

"I better hurry," America said with a smirk before she did just that, rushing off to climb the nearest ridge and try to find a good angle, something she could use to spot even someone in the distance.

But if there were other tributes out there, they were doing what America and her alliance were doing — keeping to the shadows while the sun was out, waiting until the temperatures dropped to something more habitable. The one bit of movement she did see was a rattler, who sort of glared at her, his tail going the whole time she skirted carefully around him, but beyond that, it was frustratingly quiet out there.

She let out all her breath and pushed her hair back from her face as the sun began to set behind the mountains before she made her way back. She hadn't realized how far she had wandered until she got back to the group. It was already turning into evening, the desert cooling off as the stars came out.

She met Kitty on the way into the hideout and gave her a sad sort of shrug as she shook her head. "Not a peep," she reported. "Everyone's hiding until dark — which means we've got to step up our nighttime game."

"Not surprised somehow," Kitty replied. "Though I was almost the next face in the sky — there were a few times I thought I was going to die from the horrible jokes and puns going on in here."

"Your sacrifice is appreciated," America said seriously as she slipped past the brunette to check on the boys, who were, as Kitty had reported, in high spirits and trading stories back and forth.

She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face as she watched the two of them, though she tried to hide it when they looked up. Last thing she needed was to get this attached, and she knew it. Kitty and Miles were going to have to die so Billy could get back home. But still… she liked having them around, and she hadn't seen Billy having this much _fun_ since he was an idiot and volunteered back in Twelve.

The music started up outside, and all four of them paused in what they were doing as the daily recap of deaths announced itself. There hadn't been a single cannon that day, and even though they had tried not to address it, the cloud of that fact was hanging over all of them as the final notes played out and they held their breaths.

The silence rang out in the desert for only a few seconds before, all of a sudden, Billy let out a horrible gasp, and then he simply started to _scream._

The other three kids all startled, but America was the one to rush to him and try to figure out exactly what she could do to help. He wouldn't calm down enough or take enough of a break from the writhing and screaming to even consider giving him the last of the pain medication they had, and she was at her wit's end quickly when left unable to do _anything_ for him. That didn't stop her from trying, though, grabbing hold of his hands to keep him from thrashing and rubbing his back or his arm or… anything. Any comforting gesture she could think off, shushing him in a tone that she had simply never used before.

Kitty and Miles stared at the two of them for a few moments, trying to process what was happening, but when it was clear that America would try, at least, to help Billy, Kitty grabbed Miles' arm. "We need to watch for any tributes coming in to investigate the noise. Try to protect them."

Miles looked wide-eyed at that but nodded, partly because he wanted to get out of there. The screaming was bad enough, but the look of pure panic on America's face was downright _unnerving_. "Right. Right," he said, following Kitty out and leaving the two Twelves to themselves.

Even before the others left, America didn't even bother trying to hide the terror in her expression as Billy continued to try and scream himself hoarse. The whole thing was made worse by the knowledge that America had, in the back of her mind, that the last time there hadn't been a death, the next cannon hadn't been until the following morning. And watching Billy… it had only been a few minutes and already she felt like it had been too long. She didn't know if she could make it with him until morning like this. But she would. She'd stay right there.

She had him gathered up in her arms, holding him tightly to her with his head on her shoulder as she just… tried to get him to relax. If she could get him to relax, maybe she could give him something. He was writhing and didn't seem to be aware of who he was with or what was going on, but she kept her grip on him and kept trying to shush him — but she couldn't think of anything else to do. She could knock him out, she supposed… but she didn't know if she could bring herself to do that. To give up on him. If she could get him through this, he'd be fine. He'd already had half of whatever was in that stupid tracker anyway — maybe there wasn't enough left to kill him.

So she couldn't give up on him. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.

America wasn't entirely sure how long that went on, but it was long enough that Billy had gone hoarse — which made it worse, somehow. Instead of deafening screams, there were just quiet gasps and whimpers, and with every breath, she clutched him harder, fighting the panic and tears. He wasn't coming out the other end; he _still_ wasn't relaxing enough for her to _do_ anything.

And then, very suddenly, he stopped, and a cannon blast rang in her ears.

She went very still, and she had even stopped breathing herself as she looked down at the young man she had clutched to her chest. He was sweaty and pale, but his eyes were closed — not screwed shut like they had been before.

Very quietly, America rested her forehead against his, and her long, bushy hair fell over both of them. It would have been an effective way to hide the fact that she had completely lost it if her shoulders hadn't been shaking.

But when she finally emerged from their little hiding spot with Billy in her arms, knowing they couldn't just leave him there, she had moved on to something much more deadly. Neither of her allies said anything as America very gently laid her district partner in the sand, and she went back into the cavern for another few minutes. They could hear rock crumbling and several loud shouts before a significantly more dust-covered America emerged once more, all of their gear packed up in bags that she tossed to the two of them.

"We're going hunting," America said, and neither of them argued with her as they headed out into the moonlit desert.

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

The gathered victors — those of them that actually still cared about the kids in the Games anyhow — were all silent as they watched the feed of Billy's last moments.

The sympathy directed Black Bolt's way was of course well-practiced by most in the room, but none of them were pleased with how drawn-out that had been. The cameras had cut away to show what the other kids were up to over time, but every time they'd gone back to the two Twelves, it was the same — and Billy was always screaming. Or trying to. Until he just … wasn't.

Logan had fallen incredibly quiet, the warnings from Fury still overly fresh in his memory — moreso now that he'd seen what Fury was warning against.

Of course, it wasn't the kids getting poisoned that had him worried. It was the well-being of those on his 'bait' list that the Capitol was holding over his head. He'd been too brash. Too pushy with working around the rules and regulations that governed how things ran for funding the kids.

He honestly didn't see what difference it made who funded who — as long as the Capitol got the best show they could get. Not that it was really his angle. Of course, he wanted the kids to get as much time as they could. He was thankful that he'd maxed out on the kind of help he could offer, because the mental image of Peter Parker's aunt going through what little Billy Kaplan had just suffered … _No_.

To make matters worse, there were no more missions for him to run while he was there for the Games. Naturally, the sponsorship had gotten too much of a spotlight his way, so the chances of getting out were less than zero. Which meant full time dealing with … those people.

If he wasn't so disturbed by all of if, he'd be drinking, which he was actively trying not to do for now.

"You doing okay?" Bobbi asked as she slipped into a seat right next to him, looking honestly concerned as she looked him over.

"Sure," he said without thinking. "I'm always okay."

"You shouldn't try to lie to me. Not when I already know the answer is 'of course not, Bobbi; that was horrible, and only psychos would be okay after seeing it.'"

He gave her an appraising sort of look. "Yet you seem fine."

"I… have a mentor who specializes in some very 'interesting' stuff."

"Yeah, I have no idea what that's like. Mine's a straight up teddy bear," he deadpanned.

She smirked and shook her head at him before she leaned forward, angled so the cameras wouldn't quite catch it as she whispered, "I know about the chat with Fury."

"You the only one, or did you share with your new bestie?" he whispered back into her hair.

She let out a noise of disgust. "I wouldn't give that woman anything she didn't already know," she said, a little heat to her tone despite how quietly they were whispering.

He was quiet, though he turned to look her in the eyes before he continued. "Don't lie to me either, Bobbi. You'd tell her something if you thought the payoff of intel was big enough."

She met his gaze for a long while before she nodded slowly. "Something," she agreed. She kept her gaze on him for a while longer before she straightened up and tossed her hair over her shoulders in view of the cameras. "Viper wanted to know if you'd drink with us — don't worry, _I'll_ handle the glasses," she said with a smile nothing like the expression she'd had before.

"You really think I care about that?" Logan asked.

"You looked like you could use a belt," Bobbi pointed out.

"Is there a good reason for me to go along with this, or do you just want a read on her?"

She glanced over at her mentor for a moment and bit her lip. "She asked me to ask you," she admitted. "It's up to you if you want to go."

"Do you think it'll help you figure her out?"

"I think it'll impress her if I get you to do anything at all, even if you leave early," Bobbi said, giving him a pointed look at that last part.

He never dropped eye contact with her as he thought it over. "I don't mind being bait if it'll help you do your job."

She gave him an honest smile and squeezed his arm. "Thanks," she whispered, though she paused before she stood up. "Watch your back, though. She's interested."

"Yeah, I got that memo." He gave her a little smirk that was most definitely forced. "Just … tell me when and where."

"Just after midnight, out on the balcony," she told him. "Oh, and try to get annoyed with me, if you can manage that," she said, this time with a bit of a smirk.

"Why, so you can leave us alone? I don't know about that," he replied, matching her expression.

She shook her head. "No, so she doesn't think I'm too _friendly_. Or interested." She had to make a little face his way, to tease him while it was the two of them.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the only reason she's interested is because of long-term brain damage." He leaned forward a hair. "All those years with all those chemicals can't be healthy. Especially if she's cookin' up that crap." He tipped his head toward the screens.

Bobbi couldn't help but smirk at the brain damage comment, though her expression fell when she glanced up at the screens. "Oh. I wouldn't be surprised at all," she said softly.

"She's too smug for it not to be her work," Logan pointed out.

"I'm still trying to figure out who she had inside SHIELD that's letting her play in this kind of thing," Bobbi admitted out of the corner of her mouth.

"You sure it's SHIELD?" Logan asked, almost too quiet for her to catch.

"Inside SHIELD — it has to be to get the access she needs. Loyal to SHIELD? Unlikely."

But he shook his head lightly. "Not what I meant," he said. "I'll explain after this mess is over. See you later."

She squeezed his arm again before she tossed her hair once more and put on a distinctly more smug look as she headed back over to where Viper was, and the two women fell back into chatting together and making commentary on everything that was going on in the Games, with Viper speculating on whether the _next_ hit would be even worse, since Bucky had been tame comparatively.

* * *

Just upstairs from where the victors were all gathered together, several of the stylists were watching the Games in a group, though when Billy had started screaming, several of the stylists had excused themselves. They'd all been through the Games before, and they had seen horrible deaths, but that — that wasn't like anything they'd had to endure before, just agony and death without any of the violence. No mutts, no fight, just… a very hurt boy.

Billy hadn't technically been Noh's, but that didn't mean Noh was any less attached, especially since Noh's stylist partner had done next to nothing for him. He'd been a sweetheart, and Noh couldn't help but hope along with America that she could get him through the Games back home to his beautiful lover.

Instead, he spent his last moments in pure agony and torture, and Noh was simply livid about it.

"This," he said quietly as he watched America kick apart an unsteady rock formation after she'd laid Billy down outside, "this is why I'm glad to be leaving the Games."

Jubilee looked incredibly pale as she stared out the window — anything to not look at the screen. "I'm sorry …"

"Do not apologize for _their_ actions," he said, sounding incensed — something he didn't usually do.

"I'm sorry he went through that," she said. "He was a sweetie pie. I liked him."

"He was," Noh agreed, losing some of his earlier heat as he leaned into her shoulder. "Jubilee, I'm tired of this," he whispered to her, low enough that she was the only one to hear it.

"I could use a bit of fresh air," Jubilee replied in her normal tone. "Noh, would you please join me?"

He smiled tiredly at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. He'd done the same thing when she was in her first year, reminding her that the cameras were watching even them. He let out a slow and measured breath before he climbed to his feet to offer her a hand up. "I'd be delighted to accompany you," he told her, allowing her to lead him out to the balcony — and away from all the Games footage for a while.

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

The reaction underneath SHIELD from the two former tributes from Twelve was … rough from the moment Billy started to scream.

They had all started out in good moods, talking about Team Awesome 2.0, as Peter insisted it was called, chatting about the missions they'd been sent on — since, well, half of them were incapable of keeping it a secret, and while there were a few holdouts like Clint and Natasha and _Wade_ , of all people, they all agreed that the latest missions felt better. Like they were really _helping_ people.

They had been comparing notes, trying to talk the holdouts into spilling who they had been sent to help protect, teasing Sin about her small girl army weakness the second Jan brought it up… and then the mood of the room shifted entirely after the parade of faces ended and Billy's tracker pumped poison into his bloodstream.

Not a one of them had expected it to go on for as long as it did — which was, of course, part of the problem. Kate and Cassie kept waiting for the moment their friend would be gone, not wanting to leave, even as it just… kept going.

Kate was pale and quiet, latched onto Kurt's shirt with both hands with tears streaming down her face. She didn't quite seem to hear the fact that Peter had turned the volume down to nearly nothing, Billy's screams replaced in her mind with Clint's from her own Games as she gasped and cried quietly. But every time Kurt asked her if she wanted to leave, she dug her heels into the couch as if she was afraid he might try to move her himself, so he didn't.

Wade had done more or less the same with Cassie, though Luke had hung around nearby looking stricken when Cassie had chosen Wade to curl into over him. Wade had wrapped her up as much as he was physically able and cradled her in his lap as he kept her in a tight hug, muttering into her hair that it was going to be alright, and that he'd handle whoever was involved.

It helped when the footage focused on someone else for a while, though both girls were still clearly upset, knowing that meant their friend was still suffering out there somewhere. But when, finally, the cannon rang out for Billy, Kate more or less crumpled into Kurt, while Cassie buried her face in Wade's shoulder and quietly asked, through her tears, to _leave_.

He didn't have to be asked twice, and he simply stood up and carried her out quickly, clutching her closer as he put some distance between them and any working television screen.

It took a bit, but after they were settled into a quiet corner, Cassie did finally start to sniffle her way back to him, though she looked honestly stricken when she glanced up to his face and then laid her head back down on his chest. "I just don't… _why_ would they do that?" she asked, whisper quiet.

"Because they are evil and clearly want to die," Wade replied. "There's no reasonable explanation for what just happened."

"But _SHIELD_ runs things," she said. "Why would they do that to Billy?"

"I don't know," Wade replied. "I really don't know."

She glanced up at him again for a moment, her gaze searching his face, before she laid her head back down and closed her eyes, trying to relax. "We can ask Coulson when he gets back," she decided quietly.

"Somehow, I doubt he'll have the answers you're looking for," Wade replied, though he tucked her head under his chin and gave her a tiny squeeze. "But I'll find out who needs to be interrogated."

She smiled for a moment and leaned into him. "Thanks, Wade."

He kissed the top of her head in response and settled in, planning to spend the night like that — and he did, waiting with Cassie until she'd calmed down enough for her body to catch up with her exhaustion, and long after she'd drifted off, he did too, still watching out for her.

By the time morning came around, she seemed to be doing a little better, though when he gently took her down for some breakfast, he already had a pretty good idea for how to cheer her up. He kissed her cheek and left her with her French toast for the moment before he all but sprinted down the hallway to his room, where he had kept his treasures from his mission to Twelve.

He had the stuffed bunny behind his back as he slipped back into the cafeteria and casually slid into the seat beside Cassie, watching her eat for a moment as he tried his very best to school the smile when she was still upset. But he was horrible at keeping it reined in — that much was clear when she turned his way with her head tilted and an eyebrow raised in a clear question as to what on earth he was up to.

"Alright," she said, shaking her head as a smile tugged at the very corner of her mouth, almost like she hadn't quite realized it was there. "What are you up to?"

"Well. I realized I'd be a pretty crappy boyfriend if I didn't try to do nice things for you … and try to bring you tiny little tokens to show how much you mean to me …"

The smile tugged at the rest of her mouth as she shook her head at him. "Okay, I give up. What is it?"

At the prompting, he pulled the little stuffed rabbit out from behind his back, and almost instantly, Cassie's eyes brimmed with tears as she all but snatched it out of his hands, clutching it to her chest before she threw her arms around his neck in a good, long hug, a little disbelieving laugh escaping her as she did so.

" _Where_ did you… how did you….?"

"We-lll," he said with a mischievous smile. "I kinda had a mission in Twelve, and I thought to myself, 'Self, you should swing by Sweet-Cassie-Lang's place and see what kind of magical treasures you can find for her.'"

She hugged him tighter for that one. "Tell yourself thanks from me," she said with a little laugh.

"So I did alright then?"

Her response was just to press a kiss to his cheek, and then she nodded. "You are just… the sweetest sweetheart in the world," she told him, quickly wiping at her cheeks.

"Runs in the family," he replied before he gave her another hug and a kiss on her temple. "Now. You should finish your breakfast."

She had to chuckle at that. "Yeah… I _guess_ so," she said before she kissed his cheek again and laughed before she went back to eating, beaming his way around every bite with the bunny seated upright in her lap.

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

13\. Remy LeBeau, District Eight Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

12\. Trevor Slattery, District Three Male - Killed by America Chavez

11\. Billy Kaplan, District Twelve Male - Killed by Gamemaker poison


	32. Firebird

**Chapter 32: Firebird**

* * *

 _July 14th: Day Eight of the Games_

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

Logan was pretty deeply asleep after having come in at just past six in the morning the previous night — so when Jubilee came bursting in to wake him up, he just wasn't prepared for the attack.

And it was an attack — not the usual 'good morning' cheer but a full-on, pulling-him-off-the-couch, glaring Jubilee. "What were you _thinking_?" she half shrieked at him once she had him on the floor from all the pulling — and turned upright so he was no longer face-down.

"I take it you didn't bring coffee?" he asked from the floor, a definite rasp in his voice.

"It's in the kitchen," she said dismissively before she leveled a finger in his face. "And it's not ready yet, because you're not getting any until you tell me _what the heck_ is up — drinking with _Viper?_ Are you _crazy_?"

"Possibly," he conceded.

"What were you _thinking_?" she demanded again, hands on her hips.

"Would you take the volume down a few notches, Jubes?" he asked as he started to get upright. "I went because Bobbi asked me to."

Jubilee looked surprised for a moment before she did, in fact, turn the volume down. But only a little. "Okay, then what was _she_ thinking? Because that is just a bad idea all around for everyone. It really, really is."

"Don't worry, I know Viper's trouble. I am _not_ trying to make friends. At all."

"It's not 'friends' I'm worried about." She narrowed her eyes and leveled her finger right at his nose for a second before she let out a little 'hmph' and stalked off to go get some coffee.

"Not doin' that either, not with anyone here," he called back her way as she stalked off. "You can relax, ya mother hen."

"It's a full-time occupational hazard with you!" she called back at him, still clearly peeved — though she did at least bring the coffee back for him.

He made sure to pull her over, give her a kiss on the cheek as she handed him the cup, and even managed to mutter out a thanks before the tablet chimed. But he elected, for the moment, to ignore it. At least for as long as Jubilee was there. He glanced toward the tablet and shook his head at Skye's timing before he picked it up, set it face down on the coffee table, and took a seat to try and wake up. "Is that all you needed, Jubes? Yell at me and try to tell me what I already know?"

She glanced at the tablet for a second before she made a face at him. "Just wanted to check on you, because it's not like—"

"How's Noh?" he asked, cutting her short before she could get rolling again.

She stopped short, deflating, and let out a very long, tired-sounding breath. "He's upset," she admitted. "Everybody is. I mean, it was _awful_."

"Yeah, none of the victors were too happy either — with, of course, a few sick exceptions."

"Yeah. Like your _drinking partner_ ," she told him, not quite ready to let it die.

"Bobbi was shaken, I'll have you know," he shot right back with a little smirk, pointedly ignoring the other part of the drinking group from the night before.

"That is so not who I meant," she said, shaking her head at him as the tablet chimed again. She glanced at it with her head tipped to one side, but when he made no move to check it, she turned her attention right back to him. "Noh's ready to leave; we just… have to get through…"

"Waiting to see how America does," Logan said with a nod. "Yeah."

"And then we can officially start our line," she said, though this time with an unmistakable smirk.

"Has your business partner gotten you a ring yet, or should I hang him upside down by his ankles?"

Jubilee stared at him openly for that one. "You will _not_ ," she managed to sputter out at last.

"I will, if he needs the motivation," Logan said with a little smile starting at the corner of his mouth.

"You…" She shook her head at him hard and reached over to smack him in the arm, though at just that moment, the tablet chimed, and she turned to look at it. "I think someone wants your attention," she said, half curious and half to change the subject.

He gave it a little wave. "It's fine. Message'll be there when I get to it."

She raised an eyebrow at him before she simply snatched the tablet up, spun it around in her hand, and opened up the messages herself.

"Jubes—" Logan started to say, reaching for the tablet, though she clearly wasn't going to give it up now, holding it up above her head before she skittered away to look at it.

"Who's _she_?" Jubilee asked when she saw Skye's picture, pushing back with both feet away from the table to keep the tablet out of reach.

"A friend," Logan replied, though he wasn't about to chase her over the stupid thing.

"A very pretty lady friend that I _don't know about_?" Jubilee sounded honestly insulted.

"She's in SHIELD and is not interested," he replied dryly.

"Really?" She didn't sound at all convinced as she opened up the messages, reading through them one by one and looking less and less convinced of anything Logan might say in his own defense once she'd seen them all:

 _Really? I leave you alone for FIVE MINUTES and you go INSANE?_

 _You better just be hungover._

 _If you are STILL THERE I'm going to stage a rescue. I'm not even kidding._

 _You better NOT still be there…. I SWEAR I'M GOING TO PUT EVERY DIRTY TRICK TO USE ON HER, SO HELP ME!_

"You should read these," she called to Logan in a sing-song voice. "Somebody's in _trouble_."

"Gimmie the tablet, ya loon," he replied wearily. "I'm not in trouble."

She beamed at him as she let her chair back down to all four legs and slid it over to him. "You better respond — I think she's serious," she said, the laughter obvious in her voice.

He shook his head at her and had to close his eyes for a minute at the content of the messages. "Worried that she's gonna horn in on your yellin' at me?" he asked as he sent out a quick response. _Yes. I'm hungover. And getting yelled at by a stylist. But feel free to stage a rescue anyhow. Sounds like fun._

"More like suspicious!" Jubilee replied with relish. "Who's this pretty, protective friend of yours, and _why_ haven't I gotten to meet her? And _when_ am I going to meet her?"

"I told you, she's a SHIELD agent," he replied as an answer to all of it. "There are a few pretty ones, you know."

"Well, I _am_ going to meet her," Jubilee told him in a tone that should not be argued with. "Like, yesterday."

"I think you should worry about your not-boyfriend right now. This is imaginary, what you're working up."

"Deny it all you like, mister, but I am _so_ going to meet this SHIELD person, and if nothing else, she is going to help me keep you from making dumb decisions — like, oh, hmm, I don't know, _drinking with Viper_."

"Can't keep me from doing everything," he replied before he got up to refill his mug. "And as far as I'm concerned, I was drinking with the snake to watch out for Bobbi."

"Now that… that I believe," Jubilee had to admit.

Logan took a long drink, watching Jubilee with narrowed eyes. "But you were in a rush to jump to some more … _newsworthy_ option?"

"Just making sure you weren't being _stupid_ ," she defended.

"Listen, I know I'm an idiot, but I'm not quite that dumb," he said.

"I know," she said soothingly. "But sometimes?" She shook her head. "I mean, last time you were here for the Games — for the victory tour? There was some _spectacular_ stupid then too."

He let out a long breath and nodded. "Yeah, but that stupid happened after I'd been wasted for a week solid," he pointed out. "I lost a few days there anyhow, Jubes. _That_ is nothing like this. And _that_ isn't happening again."

"Good." She bopped over to give him a kiss on the cheek before she broke into an impish grin. "Because if it did, I now know someone I can call to help me kick your butt."

"Like hell. Tablet'll be gone end of Games," he pointed out with a little smirk. "So it's going to be hard when you don't have a name."

"I'm sure I can spot a pretty SHIELD agent coming to flatten Viper. I'm not _dense_ ," she teased.

"I figured you'd be more wrapped up in your sparkle-pants friend to pay attention to a SHIELD steamroller."

"Well…" She paused to consider it. "I guess that depends on the steamroller's timing," she said, as, almost on cue, the tablet chimed again with a new message from Skye:

 _Sorry, I don't think we covered stylists in basic training. You're on your own._

He let out a little chuckle at that and couldn't help but reply. _Knew you guys were chicken. Afraid of a little bubblegum-scented stylist. You should be ashamed._

Jubes had to take a peek at what it said, and when she did, she looked so smug it was ridiculous. "I think her timing's pretty good though. I'll bet I can find her."

"Good luck with that," he said, looking entirely too full of it. "I'm sure you'll run out of things to talk about, oh, _five seconds in_."

"That's what you think," Jubilee replied, now grinning impishly before she all but skipped back out, clearly on her way to either make over her partner or track down Skye — or both.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Without Billy to keep track of, the remnants of Team Awesome 2.0 were making good time across the desert, and had been for most of the night, with America leading them on to try and find _someone_ she could kill. By the time morning came around and the sun showed up, they were nearly back to where they'd started a week ago at the Tesseract, though only Miles could tell. He recognized one of the really high camping spots he and Gwen had picked the first night in the arena — but he wasn't about to point that out and break the silence that had settled over the entire group since Billy died.

Ultimately, it was Kitty who finally spoke up, as the sunrise turned the desert warmer. "We need to find somewhere to rest in the shade."

At the suggestion, America turned to face the younger woman, and her expression was hard for only a moment before she seemed to really _look_ at her two allies, who had been following the pace she set all night, and had to sigh. "Fine," she said. "But once we get some food and water and set up camp — I'm going to keep hunting. I'll come back _after_ I find someone." She paused when she saw both of them frown and amended, "Or after someone else steps it up. Either way, there _will_ be a cannon before nightfall today."

Kitty and Miles shared a little glance, and Kitty nodded, though it was easy to see the two of them weren't able to hold up the grudge like America was. Not without some rest, anyhow.

America let out a sigh. "But I'll take first watch before I go," she amended.

"You don't have to," Kitty said. "We'll be okay if you want to keep going."

"Sorry, gorgeous, but I'm not about to let you get hurt too," America said. "Sleep, eat, have some water — I'll take care of the nasties still out there."

"My hero," she replied with both hands clasped up under her chin.

"Drama queen," America said, rolling her eyes as the group of them headed for a tight grouping of rocks — that usually meant overhangs, at least, and possibly caves and crevices if they were lucky.

But apparently, they weren't the only ones who had seen the shelter, and as the three of them approached the rocks, there was a light scuttling sound that echoed in the arena — just before three huge scorpions emerged from the red rocks, their stinging tails glistening with venom and their claws outstretched, already headed for each of the members of the little alliance.

Kitty had her sword drawn quickly and was holding it in front of her as the beasts approached. She wasn't sure how she was going to help her friends, but she knew that if America got grabbed by those pincers, she wouldn't be able to punch her way out of it before she got stung.

She met her scorpion head on, darting around its pincers as she tried to cut the tail off first, though it seemed as though the beast had already figured out that it was in its best interests to keep Kitty away from its stinger.

As for Miles, the youngest member of the alliance was doing his utmost to outrun and outmaneuver the scorpion headed right for him. His eyes were wide as the long stinger came crashing down into the sand just inches away from him as he let out a little ' _eep_.'

He ducked and dodged, keeping his attention on the pincers and tail the whole time, looking the scorpions over and trying to find a weakness as he tried to work it out aloud. "Ooh, okay. Yeah. Armored. Armored little nasty bug creature things. With venom. Yeah, okay…." He shook his head as he dodged another tail swipe. "So… how to get to the soft underbelly? If… if there is a soft underbelly? Please tell me there is one, because that's my only idea right now."

"Less talking, more hitting," America called his way as she seemed to have decided the best approach was to try to wrench off her scorpion's pincers, narrowly avoiding the gleaming stinger as she did so.

"Right." Miles nodded to himself as he barely dodged out of the way of a nasty-looking pincer grab, though as he slid out of the scorpion's reach, he saw a flash of lighter color. "YES. Soft underbelly — I was _right_!" he crooned, though he almost immediately regretted the fist bump as the scorpion's tail sang through the air and missed him by so fine a margin that it snagged on his sleeve.

"Watch it, Spidey," America ground out as she kicked at her scorpion. It was clear she was glad to have something to hit and take out her pent-up aggression — but on the other hand, she was also obviously having a hard time making any leeway with how close she had to get to do any damage. Blunt force and hand-to-hand weren't exactly the best methods for fighting scorpions.

Nearby, Kitty was wearing herself out — not that she had much to give at that point anyhow after the long march across the desert — when a thought crossed her mind on how to fight the beast. If it worked, she was sure to have America yelling at her afterward. But if it failed … well. Her friend wouldn't have to look for someone to kill out of necessity.

She bit her lip, knowing that she would have to keep her head clear as she hesitated, allowing the scorpion to grab her with its pincers. The pain was horrible as it tried to crush her, but the instinct on the animal was automatic. As soon as Kitty stopped fighting it, the tail came down — and her sword arced through the air to lop off the stinger.

The scorpion hissed out its pain and tried to grab Kitty's sword arm with its other pincer, but she made her quick move to drive the sword through its head, pinning it to the ground and forcing it to release her. She scrambled backward, ignoring the fact that the creature still had her sword as it hissed and died, limbs flailing.

She caught her breath as she watched the dead creature for a moment, then got to her feet to retrieve her sword. She looked toward her two friends and decided that, surprisingly, Miles seemed to have it under control — so America needed her help more.

Not that Kitty would ever say as much out loud.

She rushed toward America, gaining a bit of steam the closer she got to her. "Need a hand, sweetheart?" she called out, ready to fight, though she was limping from the pinch she'd gotten.

"Jump in if you're bored," America replied through gritted teeth, kicking against the scorpion to hit it squarely in the head to send it reeling back.

"If I can chop its stinger off, you can pound it to death," Kitty said. "I know you'd like that."

"So very, very much," America agreed.

"Okay, well. Try to catch his attention, and I'll … try to work around the backside."

"Fine by me," America muttered before she dove into it, once more trying to wrench one of its pincers off — and she was actually fairly close to doing so, its left pincer barely hanging on as the creature hissed and scuttled around, trying to return the favor.

The scorpion had its attention entirely on America as she wrenched the claws around, and with a slash that Kitty had to use both hands for, Kitty sliced the tail off about halfway up — and got herself half splattered in scorpion goop for her trouble.

"Ugh! Nasty," Kitty grumbled as she staggered backward a few steps from the flailing scorpion. "I'm going to be stuck wearing this yuck for the rest of the Games!"

But it was exactly what America needed to start pounding on the beastie, cracking through the hard-shelled armor now that she no longer had to avoid the tail. The girl from Twelve just kept on pounding until the scorpion was totally unrecognizable, and Kitty didn't make a move to stop her, knowing America _needed_ this, backing up to let her friend do her thing.

Meanwhile, Miles felt like he had a good handle on the pattern this mutt was operating under. Pincers to try and hold him in place, then the tail. It seemed to take way more energy for the stinger than for the pincers, so those would be his biggest problem.

But he finally had the makings of a good plan of attack in place, he was pretty sure — and he knew he was skinny and short enough to make it happen. _Advantage of being the smallest_ — _ha! And they say that's a bad thing in the Games_ , he thought to himself as he sized up the gap between the scorpion's abdomen and the ground.

When the scorpion lunged with both pincers, Miles seized the opportunity to duck underneath its outstretched limbs and let the momentum of its path carry it forward as he took out four throwing stars from his pockets. Instead of throwing them, though, he just held them up and jammed them forward, letting the scorpion open up its own underbelly with the forward motion of its own attack as it passed over his head — and trying very hard not to open his mouth as scorpion ick dripped on him.

Of course, simple friction had stopped him from sliding entirely past the beast, and that meant the thing died on _top_ of Miles, its legs starting to curl up as he let out a muffled shout of … _ick_.

Kitty made her way over to where Miles was while America was still pounding hers, and when she got close enough to see what had happened, she just dropped down and tipped her head his way. "That looks uncomfortable."

"No. Kidding," came the slightly muffled response.

"America will be done soon," Kitty said. "But … I don't have the leverage for you. Sorry."

"No, no, that's fine," Miles replied. "Just leave me here… stuck… under the inferior arachnid."

She giggled. "Well. What did it expect going up against a Spiderman?"

"Clearly bad decision-making all around."

"It sure looks like it's regretting all of its most recent life decisions — what with the yuck it's leaking out. That's going to stain."

"And it smells really, really bad down here," Miles agreed.

Kitty had to chuckle a bit as Miles moaned out his complaints, though America did finally get tired of punishing her scorpion and made her way over to very nearly wrench all the legs off of Miles', too, in order to get him out from underneath it, with Kitty lending her shoulder to the effort to roll it off once they had him mostly freed.

Miles looked over both girls once he was free with a triumphant grin, though he had to shake his head at the state of all of them. "Well, I don't think we have to worry about hunting down any tributes. They'll smell us from a mile off."

America gave him a _look_ for that one before she gave him a more careful once-over and then did the same to Kitty, frowning when she noticed that Kitty had a limp. "What happened?" she asked.

Kitty glanced down at her leg then back up to America and tried to wave it off, her curls coming loose from the ponytail she was wearing as she shook her head. "Oh. Pincers. I'm sure it'll be okay."

America didn't look like she believed Kitty, though, and instead of asking, she picked her up to carry her toward shelter, bridal style. "Come on, Miles. Let's get my hero out of the sun and put some food in her."

"Oooh, hey, before we do that…" Miles went back to where one of the scorpion carcasses was, and both girls turned to watch him with eyebrows raised as he crouched down — unsure what he was up to until he turned around with his water bottle in hand and a few inches of yellowish liquid at the bottom of it.

"Okay, no one drink from this," he said. "But hey, venom! We can use this for something, I'm sure."

"You're totally creeping me out, Miles," Kitty said.

"Hey, I know I'm no good with the throwing of the throwing stars, but maybe if I had a little more bite to my spider bites…" He shrugged. "Venom blast!"

"He's going to try to make that a thing, isn't he?" Kitty asked America quietly.

"Just let him have his moment. He did good," America said with the smallest of smirks as she gestured for the now very confident Miles to lead the way in their quest to find shelter from the sun.

* * *

Bucky and his new partner hadn't really spoken to each other much that morning — or, really, since Bucky joined up with her. Not that he really blamed her, all things considered.

He was sure that he could probably guess at some of her thoughts, though. And not just about the partner she'd had before him, though it was plain enough to see that there had been something between the two of them a little more than an alliance.

There was also the unmistakable fact that there had not been a cannon the previous day — and the one that did sound was a good long while after the parade of faces. Having been subject to the poison these people had in those trackers… Bucky knew that whoever it was, it hadn't been pretty, no matter what had happened. If they lured in another tribute or mutt or anything else, it would have been terrible right up until someone killed them.

 _That should have been me_ , he thought to himself. He was lucky that Betsy was the one to find him and not someone else. But so far, she'd refused to accept it when he thanked her; that much was obvious from the multiple attempts he'd already made.

He thought he should probably just go — it was obvious she hadn't wanted him as an ally anyway; she'd only really taken him in out of pity. The only problem was … he wasn't sure he _should_ go. Not the way she'd been looking for the past day or so.

He didn't know what he could do to help, exactly, but that hadn't ever stopped him from trying.

"We're gonna need water soon," he told her, breaking the oppressive silence with half a glance her way.

"Yes," she said finally, nodding to herself. "How did you do on that station?"

"Not too well," he admitted. "Enough to get by."

She looked around them, trying to find something to anchor herself to — something that would remind her what to do next. "Then … what do you need?"

"Maybe someplace with rock instead of sand," Bucky said, straining to remember what the trainer had said about finding water. "I know sand doesn't retain water at all. This place is almost dry again… maybe we'll find water in a rock pool?" He shrugged. "Optimistically."

"It's worth looking into," she said with a small, forced smile. "You lead the way."

He watched her for a moment, his head tipped to one side in a frown, before he nodded and headed east, closer to the mountains — figuring that would most likely be their best shot. The strange rock formations, pounded even smoother by the recent rains and floods, were closer together and provided more shade as well — though it was a dangerous move, since that meant more hiding place for mutts and other tributes.

That hadn't exactly been on Bucky's mind when he suggested it, though — he'd simply wanted to find a place with water in it and move on to the next little pool or whatever else they could find. Moving was good; it gave him something to do.

So he didn't hear it right away when the tribute hidden in the rocks began to creep after them. He had no idea that Betsy was slowing down and watching warily, because she didn't want to tip off the interloper that she knew they were there. But he did hear it when Yuriko finally attacked Betsy. Not because of the scuffle or the drawn sword — but because of the shout that Betsy let out as Yuriko sent her blade through Betsy's stomach.

Betsy's katana clattered to the ground, and she turned to try and push the taller girl away from her, but with the injury on top of her dehydration, the purple-haired model was simply outmatched.

Bucky was too far ahead to get there fast enough to prevent Yuriko from yanking her blade out of Betsy — and he didn't have any kind of range to speak of to do her any damage. The tribute from Ten looked up to see Bucky running her way and simply smirked, backing away from Betsy before she took off at a run and left the two unlikely allies to deal with the wound she'd given Betsy — it was almost certainly fatal in that arena anyway.

Bucky paused, wanting to run after the Ten tribute … but he wasn't going to let Betsy die alone, either. She hadn't let him die alone and screaming, so he wasn't going to abandon her — for all the good it would do at this point.

Betsy was shaking, and bleeding pretty badly, but it was plain to see that although there was a good amount of blood, it was a wound that would take hours to catch up to her fully. And she was already clearly in terrible pain.

"Do you want me to… I can knock you out," he offered, completely out of his element when he reached her side.

But she shook her head and pointed to her sword. "Make it quick. Just …please, make it quicker than this."

He followed her point to the sword and frowned, but he picked it up anyway and weighed it out in his hand. "I don't know how to use…"

"Just a cut ... " She showed him exactly where on her neck. "It will be fast. I'd try myself, but my hands …" Her voice was trembling as much as her hands were, and she didn't even try to hold back the tears. "Cut deep; the blade is sharp."

He glanced down at her hands and took a breath before he nodded. "Yeah, okay."

She nodded with him, closed her eyes tightly, and waited, leaving it on him. He followed her directions precisely, half holding his breath as he did so, and he was surprised at how soon afterward the cannon sounded, startling him into nearly dropping the sword he was still holding.

* * *

"If that's the redhead, are you going to be okay _not_ finding her?" Clara asked Scott quietly when they heard the cannon ring out in the desert air.

He honestly had to stop and think about it. "Yes," he said at last. "I'd rather we go after a Career than anyone else, though. We'll just… see who it is in the parade." It wouldn't be too long before they found out, anyway, considering how late it was in the day — and the alliance of Sevens and Kamala was getting ready to head out as the sun went down, to take advantage of the night air and go hunting.

Clara smirked his way and nodded to herself. "I think I'm up to causing a ruckus again, so thank you."

"No problem," he assured her quickly. "You were pretty exhausted. My fault, sorry."

"It is so not your fault," she said. "I am not built for this kind of climate." She gestured to her sunburned cheeks and nose. "Far too fair-skinned."

He smirked her way. "Don't have to tell me. I'd prefer a cabin in the snow any day."

"Smart man," Clara said with a smirk.

"At least the cannon was _before_ the parade this time," Kamala cut in, her eyes wide as she glanced up at the steadily darkening sky. "They keep cutting it close."

"Considering who's left, that doesn't surprise me," Scott said quietly, also glancing up at the sky as the two of them followed Clara.

The three of them sat down for a quick break — and to share some water — as the parade of faces finally started up in the sky, and the first new face they saw was Betsy, from Two, which had Scott raising both eyebrows.

"Wonder if she was the one they picked," he muttered mostly to himself.

"For as few Careers as there were left?" Clara said, shaking her head. "I _doubt_ that somehow."

The faces continued until Billy Kaplan from Twelve was the last in the sky, and Kamala let out a little 'oh' as she covered her mouth with one hand.

Clara was quick to make her way over to Kamala and put her arm around the younger girl's shoulder. "We don't know what happened to him," she tried to assure her. "I'm sure it was the purple girl, not Billy."

"Or maybe she was the one to get Billy," Scott muttered. "She'd be quick."

Clara pointed a finger his way with a nod. " _Yes_. And America hunted her down."

"She must be so upset right now," Kamala whispered, her eyes still wide as she stared up at the now blank night sky. "She really wanted Billy to win."

"Then if she hunted Two down, she's probably feeling a little better," Clara decided. "I know I'd feel better in her shoes."

"We should try to find her next," Kamala said, nodding quietly. "After we find the redhead from One. I'm sure she could use the company."

"That's next up," Scott promised her, and Kamala beamed at him happily.

"Gotta get the rooftop crew back together, right?" Clara said softly to Kamala as she bumped shoulders with her.

"Exactly," Kamala said. "Plus, I just can't imagine doing this alone. That would be too hard."

"Yeah, we lucked out," Scott said with a little smirk before he offered Kamala his hand to help her stand back up. "Come on, let's see if we can find Jean."

Clara tried to give the girl a kind smile, but when she passed Scott, it was clear she was uncomfortable with how this was shaping up. What the heck were they going to do when it came down to just the 'good' kids?

He met her gaze for a moment, frowned, and then cleared his throat. "Think we're getting close, Clara?" he asked.

"Yeah, probably," she said. "There are a lot of footprints of the right size going through that funnel — back and forth … smaller, light tracks."

"Did you learn all this stuff from Logan? I saw him in the Games last year doing lots and lots of tracking," Kamala said.

"A little bit?" Clara said. "But to be honest, I just really love animals. I used to spend a lot of time in the woods — finding them, following them." She turned Kamala's way with a little smile. "I used to bottle-feed baby deer when they were orphaned, and I had a pet wolf back home."

"A _wolf_?" Kamala stared at Clara, wide-eyed. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not if you raise them from pups," she said with a little frown as she crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her nose up slightly. "Victor gave it to me."

"Victor Creed… gave you… a puppy." Kamal just stared at her.

"Yes," Clara replied with a little laugh. "My _brother_ did something nice for me. Let it be publicly known."

"We're just going to have to move on now, because my brain isn't wrapping around this conversation anymore," Kamala announced, shaking her head, waving both hands, and looking so sincere in her confusion that Scott had to smirk outright.

"Will it make you feel better that by letting the world know that he's probably entirely mortified?"

Kamala paused to consider it and then started to giggle. "Okay, yeah. A little better."

Clara smirked her way and started to head down the trail. It took her another ten minutes to get them to a spot that she decided would be 'the' spot to set up Kamala's traps, and once they were there, Kamala was distracted from all thoughts of the Creed family dynamics as she made herself busy.

While Kamala was engrossed in her trap, Clara leaned close to Scott to whisper so she wouldn't overhear. "We have a problem, handsome. What do we do when it boils down to just the good kids? Draw straws?"

Scott turned her way with a small frown. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've run it in my head a few times, and the only kids that weren't on that rooftop with us, besides Jean, are Five and Ten. I guess we'll just… start there."

She nodded lightly but didn't take her gaze off of Kamala. "I'm _not_ going to kill you two."

"The same goes for me, so I guess… we're stuck," he admitted. He took in a breath and dropped his tone to an even lower whisper as he added, "If it comes down to just the three of us, though — they're not going to let Logan's tributes win. You _or_ me."

"I know," she said. "Unless we fight for it, that won't happen."

"And I'm not fighting you for it."

"Of course not," she said with her nose scrunched up a bit. "We can't fight in front of the little one."

"If you start teaching her to call you 'Mom,' I may just have to leave," he said with a little smirk.

"You'd leave us?" she teased. "And … I don't have to. She's been doing it for days."

"Really?" He raised both eyebrows and glanced Kamala's way.

"You didn't hear her, 'Dad'?"

"She must like you better," Scott smirked.

"Of course, I'm her Games 'Mom'."

"You two are never going to let that die, are you?" he asked, shaking his head, though he couldn't quite stow the smirk.

"Not by choice, no." She looked over her shoulder and bumped him with her hip. "Time to find a spot to ambush."

"Still want me to play bait?" he asked, this time with a more serious expression, easily transitioning from the teasing into their plan.

"Maybe not out in the open until I know if she has those arrows," she replied, but then paused. "Of course, if her aim is as good as you said it is, she's got a better chance of hitting me while she's aiming for you."

"Hard to aim when it's that dark and you've got a fire in your line of sight," Scott said diplomatically.

"Well, that's what you get for being a drama queen," Clara said before she popped up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss for luck. "Don't get shot, cutie."

He stared at her for a moment, still not entirely sure what to do with her, before he shrugged his shoulders up self-consciously and headed a little further down toward where Jean was camped out — her solitary fire easy enough to spot even when she was tucked back into a corner of the ridges.

Scott approached the fire warily and then, once he felt like he was close enough, he called out, "Hello? Who's there?"

Jean looked up, surprised to hear his voice, and not trusting it in the least. But then again … what were the chances that he would have found his friends when he was blinded? The fact that he was even there was something. She picked up her bow and arrows and tried to walk as quietly as she could to get a better visual on him.

Even in the dark, he had his hands up by his eyes, and she saw him stumble against the side of an outcropping that was wider at about hip height than at the ground level, letting out a little 'umph' as he did so.

She smirked a bit at that and strung an arrow as she walked down the path to get closer. "Scott? How did you get here?"

He positively froze on hearing her voice. "Jean?" he asked, though his tone was hard to place.

"I thought you were in some … crevice somewhere … pinned in the rocks," she said. She couldn't help but smile wider as she looked him over. "But you look pretty good for someone in your condition."

"I really wouldn't know," he said with a bit of heat. "What, have you been following me? Here to finish the job?"

She couldn't help but laugh a bit at that. "You found me, remember?"

"Wouldn't put it past you."

"Oh, don't be sore," she said with a clear smile in her voice. "If this was anywhere but the Games, you and I could have a good time. But … _I want to win_."

He was backing up the way he'd come, one arm shielding his eyes and the other thrown out behind him as he felt his way backward. "Yeah, I got the memo."

She lowered the bow and started to walk toward him. "Put your arm down; I want to see your face."

But as she took one more step, the trap Kamala had laid out for her snapped around her, lifting her upside down and high in the air as she was netted, her bow clattering to the ground where she dropped it in surprise.

Scott lowered his arm at last, glaring at her behind the red-lined glasses as she stared at him through the net. He walked very slowly toward the bow and picked it up, taking a good step back from the net once he had it in his hands. He didn't say another word, but Jean couldn't help staring back at him — surprised that he had managed to get such a sponsor gift but also shocked that he could be so angry with her when she had him almost eating out of her hand before.

Clara came up beside him with a little glare in place for Jean, and when Scott had the arrow nocked and drawn back, she said very quietly, "Got it where you want it?"

He nodded. "Not much of a shot with these glasses yet."

"Well if you're sure? I've got a match," she said as she sparked it and held it to the end of the arrow.

Scott was simply holding his breath, not moving his aim in the slightest until he finally let the arrow fly. He'd somehow managed to hit where he had been aiming — though he was sure he'd never be able to duplicate it — and the arrow pierced the center of Jean's chest.

But once the flames hit her quiver and the accelerant in it, the whole thing went up in a massive fireball that had all three of the members of the small Seven alliance shielding their eyes and ducking back for cover as one final screech rent the night.

"Oh… man," Kamala said quietly as Scott dropped the bow with a clatter.

Clara rested her hand on Scott's shoulder but didn't say a word even as the cannon went off in the distance — and he jumped at the sound.

After a moment or two, Clara didn't even ask him what he was thinking or what he wanted to do; instead, she simply took his arm and led him away with a tip of her head for Kamala to join them.

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

13\. Remy LeBeau, District Eight Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

12\. Trevor Slattery, District Three Male - Killed by America Chavez

11\. Billy Kaplan, District Twelve Male - Killed by Gamemaker poison

10\. Elizabeth Braddock, District Two Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

9\. Jean Gray, District One Female - Killed by Scott Summers


	33. The Final Eight

**(A/N): Yeah, the chapter title definitely gave some of it away, but... we were surprised to. This is pretty much the only story where Scott ever COULD kill the Phoenix, I'm pretty sure.**

* * *

 **Chapter 33: The Final Eight**

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

The commentators on the screen were still cackling over what they called a magnificent showing from the Seven alliance, the fireball in the night sky a fitting visual that they were only too happy to overplay to death, screenshot, and continue talking about.

It had several people — the ones who weren't exactly in the know — optimistic over the possibilities for the little alliance. Others were just gleefully recounting the possibility of a clash between the two alliances left, since there was very little competition left to speak of outside those six.

But after Logan had seen Scott's face after his kill, he stepped away from the gathered group of victors and quietly slipped up to his room. He didn't want to answer any questions.… He didn't want to deal with anyone, and frankly, he knew Scott was _not_ alright. At all. So, instead of dealing with any of it, he went promptly to breaking his word to Jubilee and simply started to drink as the family interviews began. He swore out loud when it started, because he'd forgotten about them — and of course … Scott was up first.

They were clearly capitalizing on the spotlight as Trish gave her little introduction and overview, reminding the viewers that Scott and his brother had been split and that Scott had grown up in Seven's orphanage. She had plenty of practiced pity in the story that most reporters had to pull in from stories about the Games, though if she'd been hoping for a sob story, what she got instead was little Elsie Dee, who was first to answer the door and positively monopolized all of Trish's attention.

"You're here for Scott, aren't you?" she asked, her arms crossed over her chest as she sized Trish up. "You don't look like you're from Seven — or a Sentinel."

Trish looked taken off guard by the precocious little girl before she nodded. "Yes, I'm here to ask about Scott. Did you know him?"

"Of _course_. He lives here. _Duh_." Elsie Dee looked up at Trish like she was dense. "You're not very good at this if you don't know _that_."

"Is there anyone else at home — anyone grown-up that I can talk to?" Trish asked, but Elsie rolled her eyes even harder at that.

"They're all upstairs watching the Games. You don't want to talk to them anyway," she told Trish. "You really are bad at this."

"Why don't I want to talk to them?"

"Cause you want to talk about Scott. Duh. Only…" She put her hands on her hips again. "Don't ask the littlest ones, because they still don't really _know_ anything about anything."

"Well, who can I talk to then?" Trish asked, her amusement growing the more the little blonde spoke. "I'm supposed to talk to people that know him here at the orphanage."

"Well, good luck with that, lady," Elsie said, shaking her head.

"Wait, do _you_ know him?"

She smirked and nodded. "Yep. You're really, really bad at this."

"Well, I'm not a detective," Trish said. "Just a reporter. So why don't you pick out the other kids that know him best and come on outside to talk with us for a few minutes?"

Elsie seemed to consider this for a moment before she nodded and closed the door in Trish's face, returning a bit later with some of the kids from Heather's usual zoo — the older ones that understood more of what was going on, of course.

It was clear Trish wasn't quite used to interviewing a small gaggle of kids all at once as they all vied to have turns at the microphone to tell stories about Scott, like how he was always working but if Elsie asked him with her 'Elsie face' — whatever that meant — he would play with them anytime they wanted. Or how he was nice to everybody, even Sentinels, which had Elsie nodding. "Oh yeah. He's a _boy scout_ ," she giggled, and then refused to expound on that statement anymore.

Logan had to snort at that one, nearly spilling his drink. Sassy kids. All of them. And smart enough not to say anything incriminating in front of a reporter. Every one of them was going to get something special when he got back to Seven.

When it seemed that Trish had her fill of being bossed around by Elsie and her squad, she finally ended the interview, looking a bit surprised at how it had gone.

* * *

 _Triskellion_

* * *

After Scott's interview had aired, Skye was in a fairly good mood. It was a relief to have Jean out of the Games, and things were actually looking up for the little Seven alliance. Maybe her favorite tribute wouldn't lose this year. That would be _great_.

Plus, it was a blast to watch little Elsie Dee work Trish over. That girl knew she was in charge. Of everything.

Of course, the next interview up on deck was another from that same alliance. The Capitol clearly wanted to capitalize on the spotlight for that group, and when Trish rolled up to the cute little house in one of the few nice neighborhoods in Six, it was immediately clear to see where Kamala got her sweetness from as her mother waved Trish and her cameraman inside with a warm smile and Kamala's father made it a point to offer them both something warm to eat, though they declined.

Kamala's big brother Aamir, though, was clearly not as warm and welcoming as his parents. He was being polite, but his gaze kept slipping to the television every second his parents spent being nice to Trish before the interview had even really started. He wanted to check on how his little sister was doing, not sit down with a Capitol interviewer.

"Are you proud of how far your daughter has made it?" Trish asked once they were all settled, though both of her parents glanced at each other at the question, even if Trish looked like she hadn't thought it would be a hard one to answer.

"We're certainly glad she's alive," her father, Yusuf, said slowly.

"And we're very, very glad that she hasn't had to shed innocent blood," her mother, Muneeba, chimed in, looking entirely earnest.

"Not that it'll last," Aamir muttered from his place on the far end of the couch, his gaze still on the screen of the television, even if it was off.

Both Khans shot their son a look, and he shrugged as if to say 'what, it's true,' before they turned their attention back to Trish. "We're just grateful she's still alive," Yusuf repeated, this time more emphatically.

"And do you have anything you'd like to say to her? You know , any message—"

"We just want her home," Aamir said, turning her way with his eyes narrowed. "She's thirteen and innocent, and she has no business being in a place like that."

Yusuf put a hand on his son's shoulder and shot him another look. "Aamir has been looking out for Kamala since they were little," he explained to Trish with an apologetic sort of expression.

"And now she has a protector in the arena too — two protectors, in fact. Isn't that good to know?" Trish offered.

"It will just be good to have her home," Muneeba said diplomatically.

"We're grateful for what they're doing, really," Yusuf added. "But we'd just like her to be home away from all… that."

The interview continued pretty much the same way until Trish was politely escorted to the front door, and Skye couldn't help but watch all the way through with a frown. It was clear Kamala's family was upset.

She didn't really think about it as she pulled her tablet a little closer and pulled up the messaging app and wrote to Logan. _It's not gonna be easy this year. I think the adorable sweetie pie thing is genetic, and there's still six left._

She stared at the message for a moment, wondering if she should even send it, since she was sure that Logan would feel the same way. Worse, probably, since he knew the orphanage kids better than she did _and_ he didn't know about Tahiti. So it felt a little selfish to complain to him.

She edited the message quickly.

 _The adorable sweetie pie thing is genetic, clearly._

There. Much better. She nodded at the message and then sent it off, setting the tablet aside as the next interview cued up.

* * *

 _Phil Coulson's Triskellion Office_

* * *

The Games coverage was playing quietly in the corner of Phil Coulson's office as he looked over the preliminary field reports on Fitzsimmons' final monstrosity for the Games. The reports were scrawled with little notes from both Fitz and Simmons, some in Fitz' messy scrawl and some with Simmon's neat print. They all said basically the same thing, though — they didn't want to send out their biggest project this year.

The problem was, the thing performed 'admirably,' at least by Games standards, and while Fitzsimmons had certainly helped with the mutts, they weren't the only ones on the team of creators, and the rest of the R&D department said it was perfect. Essex had signed off, too, which meant it was guaranteed to be horrible.

It was a good thing this was the last Games, because Coulson's team… he didn't think they could hold up under the pressure if they ran another one. They were all getting far too attached.

He was only half listening when he heard Clara's name in the broadcast as her interview was up next, and he paused, intrigued. There had been a few surprises this year — like Jean stepping in to volunteer without being on their list at all — but Clara had been by far the biggest one.

Coulson had been completely in favor of sending her in, hitting Creed where it hurt, but now, he found that he was rooting for the girl, and he'd already sent in at least three official requests to put her on the Tahiti list. He knew she wouldn't make it through, not when Thanos wanted Creed punished, but that didn't mean they had to sentence the girl to _death._

Of course Thanos wanted her dead. She was nothing like her brother. Compassionate, kind, and even tender to those she put around herself. Her protective drive was right up there with the kids currently in the Tahiti program too — and that was saying something. How in the world those two were from the same household was a mystery. And it just wasn't right that she had to pay for Victor's failings, even if she had seemed to expect it.

The interview with Victor for his sister had been as Coulson had expected. One fleeting glimpse of a bit of humanity immediately shoved away as he stormed by the interviewer and her camera. But the interviews from Seven were much more interesting. Her _other_ living brother was out and out worried for her. A dead ringer for Victor — though a bit shorter, and a lot more concerned about someone else's welfare. Their mother was incredibly quiet and answered Trish's questions honestly and softly as what looked like a massive timber wolf kept vigil at her feet.

He had to shake his head. Something was definitely off about the family as a whole, but Clara seemed to be the best of it. And one way or another, he was going to make sure Fury put her in Tahiti.

* * *

 _July 15: Day Nine of the Games_

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

The family interviews had run for the little alliance of Sevens and Kamala through the night, but as the Capitol went to sleep, they died down, picking it back up again around breakfast the next morning with the members of the second 'Team Awesome.'

Kitty's parents' showing was almost a repeat of watching Kate's dad from the year before. Stiff, very little emotion, and although her mother was wide-eyed, she really didn't say much about anything — even when Trish asked her a direct question. As a result, the cameraman had made a point to edit the interview so that whatever they did say was shown with a voiceover of the answers while the images on screen displayed almost a walkthrough of Kitty's portraits on the walls of their home. Very few snapshots. Mostly posed photos where she was wearing something that she'd hated, and in every one, it wasn't the smile that Kurt had known his whole life. It was a fake one — cold and hollow.

What's worse was that her father's answers were not at all descriptive of the girl on the screen. "It's like he doesn't even know her," Kurt said softly.

Kate watched Kurt's face instead of the interview playing and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "That's what she's got friends like you for," she whispered in his ear. "Family's not just blood."

"Yes, but what good does that do when I'm not there to defend the real _katzchen_?"

Kate shook her head. "I don't know, but you can give him a piece of your mind when this is all over if you want. I'll make sure Peter gets it on film so Kitty can watch it whenever she feels down," she said with a little smile, clearly trying to cheer up her upset Elf.

He turned her way for a moment to give her a quick kiss before they turned back to the screen, where Kitty's father was trying to say how much he'd taught her before she'd gone into the Games about being light on her feet — though even Kitty's mother had turned to look his way on that one.

"She likes to dance," Kurt said.

"She can share Natasha's studio when we combine Tahiti and the other side of SHIELD," Kate said with a little nod.

"She would love it," Kurt agreed.

"Clint will make Natasha share. It'll be good for her," Kate promised.

Kurt let out a deep breath and nodded, though he was frowning. "Do you think they'll really do that?"

"If they don't, they'll have an uprising on their hands, and we know how to handle pointy objects now," Kate pointed out as she gently kissed his cheek again.

"I want her to _win_ ," Kurt said quietly, but he drew in a breath and held it for a moment before he continued. "But I want her to _live_ more."

"Yeah," Kate said, her tone more subdued than before as she had to nod beside him. "Yeah… I get that. I really do." She pressed another quick kiss to his cheek and rested her head against his. "New plan, then? Let Logan have his kid, make him happy. We get all our friends; we're happy. And nobody has to die or kill anyone to get there. Deal?"

"I'm sure that's not how this works, Kate," Kurt pointed out, and she scoffed at him.

"Nonsense. I'll run it by Van Helsing in the morning. He'll approve of it heartily, and everyone will be happy and eating pancakes by dinner."

"If only it were that simple," Kurt replied with a little kiss.

"Not everything can be so straightforward as you and me, sweetheart," she teased him, just to get him to kiss her again, which, of course, he did.

* * *

Peter still had the run of the rec room, and most of the others were completely content to give it to him. He'd actually overheard Jan suggesting to Ororo that some of the other kids would trickle into the rec room for the peace and quiet as the Games went on and, inevitably, somebody was going to lose the friend they had in the Games.

But seeing as that hadn't happened yet — besides to Sin, who was absolutely _not_ going to sit in the rec room and do anything that looked like she might have _cared_ — Peter had the room to himself as the family interviews played.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was still watching. The hit to Team Awesome 2.0 when Billy died had been hard enough to watch and had completely derailed any good mood he'd started to build. And then the family interviews….

See, he'd never watched those when he was growing up. Aunt May didn't like them, because she couldn't stand to watch the parents, aunts, uncles, siblings… She didn't like that the Capitol capitalized on grief. So Peter didn't watch them either.

And he could totally see why. Watching the interviews, it was clear to see that these people were suffering, living and dying with every second their family and friends were on the screen, just like Peter had been watching Gwen… just like Gwen had probably been watching him.

With the Sevens alliance done, the interviewer had moved on to Team Awesome 2.0, and Peter tried to pay a little more attention when Trish started up her introduction on Miles. The kid had done everything he could — more than could have been expected of anyone else in his position — to try and help Gwen and even to try and help the new alliance stay positive. Or… as positive as the arena could be.

So Peter was a little surprised to find that the little ray of sunshine for Eleven didn't have anybody, really. Trish knocked on the door of the apartment but found nothing, so that had been edited out to just showing where he lived. The awards from school that he'd nailed up above his headboard on his bed. That sort of thing.

They did, finally, find someone to ask about Miles, and when they found the sweet, stoutly little boy, it was easy to see why he and Miles were best friends.

"Oh, he's going to be back," Ganke said, nodding confidently. "You don't know him like I do, and he's got a big heart. And he's the fastest kid in school."

Trish had to smirk at that. "So you're saying he'll win by outrunning all the other kids?" she asked.

"I'm saying you gotta give him credit," Ganke insisted. "I know he's no good on ranged or… well… weapons. But give him something smart to work on. He'll be out of there in a second!"

"I'm afraid the Games aren't quite like a school competition," Trish pointed out, but the young man seemed adamant.

"Just wait and see. This year, we'll have a Spider-man victor from Eleven, I can just feel it. Can't you?"

"It certainly is a very different year than any other year we've seen," Trish allowed.

Ganke broke into a huge grin. "Exactly!" he said. "Nobody's seen any of this stuff coming. The Careers are gone, and Miles is doing well - I'd say things are looking up!"

Trish smiled at Ganke's enthusiasm and then leaned in a bit. "Still… do you have anything you'd like to say to him? Just in case?"

Ganke's expression fell as he glanced at the microphone, uncertain for the first time since he'd started speaking. "Um… well. I guess," he muttered quietly. He squared his shoulders to look down the camera lens. "Miles, buddy, you'd better win. But if you don't, I just want you to know you're _my_ favorite Spider-man."

Peter couldn't help but smile at that as Trish wrapped up the interview with Ganke and the feed switched back to checking in on the arena while they queued up the next one.

This kid, this new Spider-Man… he was so going to be invited to the team. Just one big Team Awesome all around. He was sure Logan wouldn't mind. After all, Peter had seen the evidence. Logan loved them anyway.

* * *

There were only three interviews left, and both Kate and Cassie were braced for what they knew had to be America's. After all, there was only one member of the second Team Awesome left.

That really didn't make it any easier, though, as when Trish made her way back to the dilapidated little shack for the second time in as many years, the only two members of their team to greet her were Nate and Eli — exactly the two boys that she didn't want.

"I'm looking for Thomas Shepherd and Theodore Altman," she said.

Eli had his arms crossed, standing in front of the little house. "No."

"I need them for the family interview. We went through this last year? Remember?"

"Last year, you were asking for America," Eli pointed out. "And she was just fine to talk to you."

"I promise, it will be brief," Trish argued, which had both Eli and Nate sharing a look between them.

"I doubt that," Nate said quietly.

"Look, that's Billy Kaplan's twin brother and boyfriend. Do you really think I'm going anywhere without talking to them?" Trish crossed her arms and matched Eli's body language exactly, and the stifled chuckle from the other end of the camera told the audience that Trish's cameraman was clearly enjoying the standoff.

But, finally, Eli caved. "You can't go in there," he told her seriously before he disappeared down a hatch door, and the house was quiet for a while.

"You don't need to interview them, you know," Nate told Trish as they waited. "You're looking for America's friends, not his."

"Actually, I kind of do," she defended. "They're all running in the same pack. If she was willing to fight and die for him, I think we can safely say she is friends with his boyfriend."

Nate frowned hard at that one. "It's not Billy's interview," he said.

"Do you want to do the interview yourself?" Trish challenged.

"Me?" He looked taken aback.

"You sure sound like you know more about it than apparently I do — so do you want to do it?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I could do it."

"Then you just set the camera up and leave it here — and go find whoever _you_ think would be a better interview for America. Go on." She shooed him forward with both hands. "We can compare notes later."

"There's... not… anybody else…." He looked a little lost.

She raised her eyebrows his way, waiting for it to sink in for him. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Can't you just interview me? I thought... "

"Are you friends with her?"

"Sort of," he said.

"Well, then we can start while we wait for the others, but I still want to talk to them."

Nate nodded, but in the few minutes between when Trish started asking him about America and when Eli and the other emerged, it was clear he was struggling. Even America's closest friends didn't have much to say about her. The problem was that she spent so much of her time over the fence or on her own or somewhere they had no idea where she was… there wasn't much they _could_ say on Capitol television.

Still, Trish was distracted from Nate's sub-par answers on America's background by the twin figures of Teddy and Tommy. It was clear that, up until a few moments ago, Teddy had been a _wreck_ , and Eli was half standing in front of him as Tommy, who had already had his moment in the spotlight with Trish the previous year, sized her up with more narrowed eyes than he had last year.

"Thank you for taking the time to talk to me," Trish said. "I really had hoped not to meet you all again under these circumstances."

"Yeah, whatever. Just… get this over with," Tommy grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest.

Trish looked a bit put out, but she did understand the group's viewpoint. She turned to her cameraman and made the cut sign before she turned back to the kids. "Alright, I'm going to be frank: just tell me whatever great things you can about America, and if you let slip anything about Billy, and how they were such great friends, I can all but guarantee it'll air. But try to knock the chip off your shoulder for your _own_ good, okay?"

"What're you gonna do, powder us to death?" Tommy shot her way.

"I'd really rather not have you on camera acting like a bunch of wannabe rebels," she said with a frown. "That kind of attitude will bring the wrong attention."

"You know, guys, she's not wrong," Eli said, which earned him a glare from all three other boys.

"Okay, okay. We'll say nice things about America. Then can we go home?" Tommy all but whined.

"That's all I'm asking for," she replied.

Of course, almost all of Trish's interactions with the kids from Twelve were edited, so what the kids in Tahiti saw of the whole interview was a brief showing of the confrontation at the front door, followed by a red-eyed Teddy as well as Tommy _trying_ to be on his best behavior giving a glowing review of America's ability to win. Which… mostly consisted of Tommy recounting times America had hit him. He seemed to think that was ample evidence to show that she was victor material.

It was actually relatively painless, and both Kate and Cassie were relieved to see that Teddy made it through without totally breaking down over Billy, though he did look like he was teetering on the verge.

Still, it could have been so much worse, and both girls heaved a sigh of relief when it was over, ready for the Games to be _done_ at this point. Neither of them were sure how much more of all this they could take.

They were hardly even paying attention to the beginnings of the interviews from Ten — the guy they were talking to looked like a major creep anyway — when Tivan's voice broke through the broadcast with 'breaking news' from the Games that had everyone in the room sitting up straighter and holding their breaths.


	34. You Can't Take It Back

**Notes: Lol, seriously, Elsie Dee is the best and we love her and there should be more of her ruling the world always and forever.**

* * *

 **Chapter 34: "You Can't Take it Back"**

* * *

 _Morning of July 15: Day Nine of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Bucky was still shaken from having had to kill Betsy. He'd never expected it to be that quick. Or that he could do it and not completely lose it afterward.

But he was keeping in mind what happened when there were no deaths, and he didn't want to wait for that to be the case _again_. So before much time had passed, he was out searching for tributes to kill so he could simply… go _home._ His internal headcount wasn't great for remembering who was left, but he knew that there were a lot fewer tributes to deal with than there had been a few days ago, and he was well aware that the freaky chick from Ten was still skulking around. At least that much was for sure.

Ahead of him, in the shadows, he saw movement … a head moving, but he had no idea who it might be creeping along so slowly. There was no way to tell in the low light, but he knew Ten had been moving almost exclusively in the shadows, so there was a solid chance that it was the creepy girl.

He waited until whoever it was strayed close enough that he'd be able to run her through, and with his jaw locked and solid determination in his gaze, he gripped Betsy's sword in his hand. He was prepared to avenge his one time rescuer — ready to stick her and run, well aware that she was just like the other Tens from years previous: dangerous even while dying.

He struck without double-checking his quarry the instant she turned the corner. So Bucky was all the more taken aback when he realized that the girl that he'd skewered wasn't the girl from Ten — but the one he'd stopped Brock Rumlow from attacking earlier, the one from Nine who had seen her partner off that first morning on a transport.

He might have been looking for someone to kill, but _her_?

He realized his mistake too late, though, and both of them locked gazes with wide eyes as Bucky's sword deflected off of the edge of one of her ribs, finding purchase in the small bit of flesh between them and kept sliding through, the momentum of his motion only slowed by his hesitation, not stopped entirely.

Kitty's sword clattered to the ground and she looked up at him in disbelief, but she didn't have anything to say at all before Bucky quickly withdrew the sword, stammering to apologize to her somehow. It was just that much more miserable when Kitty collapsed to her knees and Bucky went right with her, trying to fix what he'd done, trying to stop the bleeding as his hands shook and he simply panicked.

"I'm sorry… I didn't … I didn't know it was you," he said with a tremor in his voice. "I never would have … Not you."

She stared at him, not understanding in the least what he was talking about, and Bucky didn't get the chance to try and explain himself any better when something fast and sharp went flying toward him. He didn't duck, but it still missed him and a throwing star embedded itself in the sandy rock face behind him.

He glanced up toward where the star had come from to see that the little boy from Eleven was there, open-mouthed and slightly shaking. The girl from Twelve cleared the ridge just behind him, taking in the scene in a heartbeat before she simply _charged_ toward Bucky, clearing meaning to take his head off with her bare hands.

Bucky stumbled back away from her, one arm outstretched to Kitty and clearly trying to apologize — to explain .. and in the moment of hesitation, Miles managed to hit his mark with a throwing star. An instant later, though the star wasn't in a terribly vital area, Bucky was beside himself in agony — again.

"Venom blast, dude!" Miles called his way. "That'll teach you to mess with Team Spideys."

Bucky knew that if he didn't get moving — that was it. Twelve's girl would finish him off, and she didn't look like she'd be nice about it, either. So, half clutching his arm where Miles had hit him, he pushed back the desire to scream and poured all of the energy he had left in him into turning tail and _running_.

"Coward!" America spat after him, though she wasn't about to go anywhere when Kitty was dying.

Kitty, meanwhile, was quietly gasping where she was crumpled on the ground, her hands covered in blood and her breaths coming harder with every passing second.

Miles stared at her, wide-eyed, suddenly unable to take another step closer as America knelt down beside Kitty, wincing when she saw the wound and full well aware she wouldn't be able to help her. "Sorry, pretty kitty," she said quietly. "Guess we didn't catch up to you fast enough."

"It's okay," she said, shaking her head lightly. "It'll be okay."

America watched Kitty's breaths come in, her heart catching in her throat for a moment as she forced herself to stay there, no matter how badly she wanted to catch up to that Five boy. She wasn't sure Kitty could hear her after her eyes drifted closed, so she just leaned on the rock beside her and held her hand.

"Betcha I'd have wowed the pants off of you if I'd taken you on a date outside this crummy desert," she told Kitty. But of course, there was no response, and after a moment, the cannon echoed further off.

Miles was pacing in a panic as he watched America, who had her eyes closed and her head tilted back as it was clear she was trying to get a hold of herself, and when America did look his way, it was with such a fierce expression that Miles took a step back.

"Don't you die on me, Miles Morales," she ordered him as she got to her feet. "So help me, _one_ of the people on this team is getting out of this alive."

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

The room was deathly silent as the screen showed the blue image of Kitty's face and the Marvel anthem played for another tribute's death. It seemed to add insult to injury, then, that Bucky's was the last family interview. The footage switched from America and Miles next to Kitty's unmoving form to Bucky's little sister extolling his virtues and how nice he was — how he always tried to take care of people.

It was like whiplash for most of the kids watching, most of all for Kurt, who was blankly _staring_ at the screen with wide eyes. There hadn't been any warning at all, no buildup of focus on Team Awesome 2.0 or anything like that — just a harsh switch from interviews to Bucky stalking up on Kitty. And Kurt was still reeling from it.

Steve was just as quiet, though for an entirely different reason. He was upset on Kitty's behalf, of course, but that was his best friend they were talking about, and it was clear Bucky hadn't meant to kill Kitty. It was too familiar to Steve, watching Bucky try to apologize for killing an innocent girl — and it wasn't lost on him that Kate kept glancing his way with an almost accusatory glare. They'd learned to work together sure, but some things, like being murdered … they were harder to forgive and forget — and even harder when there was such a raw reminder right there on the screen.

Steve hadn't noticed Ororo come to sit next to him until she'd rested a hand on his arm, and when he glanced up at her, she gave him a tired smile. "You two are way too much alike. Is that your fault or his?" she asked him, and he had to smile, recognizing the clear attempt to get his mind off of the others in the room for what it was.

But Steve has been momentarily struck dumb, unable to put to words what he was feeling or thinking about the whole fiasco. She watched him for a moment before she gave him a quick sideways hug and stayed right there — partly as a shield. It was much harder to see Kate and Kurt — and their looks of accusation and devastation, respectively — when Ororo's head was on his shoulder and the hair, which she was now wearing styled in a mohawk, was in his line of sight if he turned that way.

"I want to fix this," Steve said quietly when he finally got his vocal feet back underneath him.

"How?" Ororo asked him.

"I don't know," Steve said, shaking his head lightly. "But I have to find a way."

"You're not responsible for what happens in the Games. This one _or_ the one before," she pointed out. "You already know that." When he continued to stare at her, and then at the interview still playing on the screen, she let out a sigh and pulled him into a big hug. "You're sweet to try though, even if you're an idiot for it."

Kate, in the meantime, had leaned over to where Kurt was still staring at the screen to gently place both hands over his. "If you want to go next door… I'm sure Pete has room," she offered gently. "Or we can go kick in Coulson's office and demand to see the Tahiti list. I'm up for whatever you want to do." She didn't really wait for him to respond, though, as it was clear he didn't know how to react yet.

And in lieu of any kind of reaction, Kate gently pulled him to his feet to walk him to the rec room, where Peter looked just as upset on Kurt's behalf as she felt.

Not a word was spoken between the three kids as Peter made a space for them, and both Kate and Peter leaned in on either side of Kurt as the last of the family interviews ended and the coverage turned back to the Games and the arena.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

The Seven alliance had finally found a nice little spot of shade to rest in after a long, hot trek with little in the way of protection. The girls had sat down on opposite ends of their hideaway, and Clara simply leaned back against the wall of rock with her eyes closed.

"I know I keep saying it, but I was _so_ not made for this kind of country," Clara said quietly. "How are you two holding up?"

"I'm okay," Kamala said, though Scott seemed to be of the same opinion as Clara as he leaned against the wall as well.

"I could keep going if you want to sleep first," he said, rolling his head to look her way.

"I just want to cool off, which I know is not going to happen," Clara replied. She drew her hand across her forehead and pulled a face at the mixture of sweat and dust. "I hate this color."

"Which color, red?" Scott asked with just the slightest of smirks. "Yeah, you must be real tired of it."

Clara couldn't help but smirk at him. "More a brick type color," she replied. "I'm kind of attached to ruby."

"Not as much as I am at the moment," he replied.

" _You_ think," Clara said with her eyes closed as she slid down the wall a bit.

"Alright, Mom, Dad, I'm not shopping for a little sibling right now," Kamala mumbled, and Scott stared her way with his mouth slightly open as Clara chuckled quietly at her.

"We're not…" Scott stammered.

"Uh-huh," Kamala said tiredly. She was already stretching out and ready to sleep the hot day away — since there had already been a cannon earlier and they didn't have to worry about finding someone before sundown.

"It's okay, Scott," Clara said with a little smile. "She _knows_. She's just picking on you."

"You've corrupted that sweet kid," he accused her, though there really wasn't any weight to his tone.

"But she's such a quick study," Clara countered.

"No one's corrupting anybody; I'm tired, and your flirting is keeping me awake," Kamala said without even opening her eyes or glancing at them — smirking hard the whole time.

"Sorry," Clara said. "We'll try to keep the noise down for you. Wouldn't want you corrupted any further." She was smirking to herself mostly because she didn't even need to look Scott's way to know that he was giving her a disapproving look as she tried to settle in for a cat nap of her own.

Scott was on watch while the girls slept, and it was quiet and peaceful for about an hour until, very suddenly, Kamala let out a yelp of surprise.

Not one of them had seen the opening further back in the wall of the rocks around them; it was well-hidden and half-filled with water. But both Clara and Scott saw it now; they both caught sight of Kamala's wide eyes as someone dragged her back into the shadows.

Clara scrambled to her feet and rushed toward Kamala, shouting for the girl from Ten to let her friend go, and although Yuriko did not move at first, she quickly dropped Kamala when Clara managed to slip around Yuriko's back and grab one of her arms in her claws, shredding open Yuriko's shoulder.

Clara heard Kamala crying more out of terror than anything else as Scott pulled Kamala away and tried to get her to calm down. He was simply trying to look her over and make sure she wasn't badly hurt as Clara dealt with the threat, and as soon as Clara was sure that the little girl was out of the way, the blonde brawler let loose.

Even though she'd hurt Yuriko, it wasn't as if Clara was going into the fight in perfect condition. The injured and bandaged arm was easy enough to spot.

The two girls squared off, circling each other at first — and the look of pure loathing and rage was plain enough to see on Clara's face. For the first time, her two allies could finally really _see_ the family resemblance an instant before Clara attacked again.

She didn't care what Yuriko had to say, or what her excuses were on _why_ out of the three of them, she'd chosen to pick the smallest of the group. It didn't matter. The girl was a coward, and Clara simply wouldn't stand for it.

But Yuriko wasn't unarmed, and as Clara rushed her, she raised her blade and slid it just below Clara's ribs on her left side. But to Yuriko's horror, Clara didn't seem to notice much at that moment and kept coming at her with a snarl. Clara slashed down and tore open four deep gashes across Yuriko's face, going both ways, before she spun and kicked her in the stomach.

The blonde was relentless, ignoring her own injuries in favor of tearing into the monster that had attacked her little friend. As Yuriko realized the massive mistake she'd made, Clara managed to land a few more strikes — though they were mostly superficial — before the girl from Ten simply poured on as much speed as she could manage, kicking Clara away to gain more distance as she tried to escape, slipping off into the shadows in the desert rocks faster than Clara could keep up.

It wasn't until Clara stumbled in her chase that her friends realized that there was a big problem.

"Leave her!" Scott shouted after Clara. He glanced at Kamala to make sure she would be okay if he left her for a moment and then ran after Clara himself in case she kept trying to run anyway — it wouldn't be the first time she ignored him, anyhow. When he did catch up to her where she'd stumbled, he crouched down beside her to offer his shoulder to her. "How bad?" he asked when he saw the blood.

"It … doesn't _look_ horrible," she said as she looked down at her wound.

"How much is yours?" he couldn't help but ask, since she'd gotten in some good, solid hits on Yuriko, and the evidence was plain to see.

She shook her head and pulled her shirt up a bit before she shook her head at the mix of sand, blood, and sweat there. "More than I'd like," she replied.

"Yeah," Scott said, his mouth going dry as he helped her stand. Once he'd gotten an idea of where she'd been stabbed, the blood that was hers was easier to differentiate. The large, deeply soaked spot from her ribs to her hip … that was all Clara.

"Maybe some shade would be a good idea," she suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed quickly before he picked her up, deciding it would be better to just do it instead of asking.

"You don't have to do that," Clara told him.

"Uh-huh." He headed right back to where they'd left Kamala without slowing in the least. "Just humor me."

"I didn't say I didn't approve; I just said you didn't _have_ to," Clara said quietly.

He shook his head at her. "You're bleeding, and I doubt it's superficial. _Why_ would I make you walk back on your own?" he pointed out, and she, surprisingly, didn't have an argument against that.

When they got back to where they'd camped out, Kamala met them with wide eyes and as much scrap material as she had been able to gather in that short time. She had a red spot on her shirt from where she was dripping blood from the long cut along her jaw Yuriko had left her. But aside from that, she looked fine — just scared out of her mind.

"We've got, maybe, a quarter of a water bottle?" Kamala offered. "She can have it — we can find more."

"I'm not thirsty," Clara said quickly. "Just … hang on to that."

"Okay, well… I brought…. I can try to find something else?" Kamala offered, pressing cloth to Clara's stomach in an attempt to stop the bleeding she could see even as Scott tore through the pack that had carried their medical supplies.

"You _had_ to use it up on me," he muttered under his breath, not really expecting an answer as he kept digging.

Clara laid back on the rocks, glancing his way as she tried to look at the cut, which, to her surprise, didn't seem to be doing more than barely oozing. "It's not really bleeding much," Clara said before she let out a breath and started to relax a little. "You can see for yourself."

Kamala looked over her shoulder at Clara's bared midriff and tipped her head to the side, letting out a little sigh of relief. "Oh. Oh good."

Clara gave her a little smile and bunched up her windbreaker to use as a pillow. "I'm sorry I missed seeing her," she told Kamala. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kamala assured her, though she did take the cloth bandage that Scott pressed into her anyway to hold up under her chin. "You, um, redirected the knife," she added. "So my head's intact… thanks."

"She must have gotten here before we did. I should have checked it out better," Scott said with a frown in a tone that clearly sang out how frustrated he was with himself.

"You and me both," Clara said softly. "Not to worry; I think it'll be fine."

"Still, being stabbed can't feel good. You sure you're okay?" Kamala asked.

Clara let out a sigh and turned her head Kamala's way. "Dizzy, sure. And I'm tired."

Scott frowned at that. "Probably not a good idea to fall asleep until we know how bad it is."

"You _don't_ need to worry about me," Clara told him, her meter slow and even. "It's probably the adrenaline crash."

"Well, I'm going to do it anyway," he told her. "Humor me."

"Okay, okay," she replied, though it looked as though her lids were heavy. "Keep me awake if you have to."

"Alright… how?" Scott asked. "I'm not much for talking."

"I don't know, fearless," she replied with a tiny smile. "But if you don't want me to go to sleep, you gotta make it attractive."

"O...kay." Scott sat down beside her and glanced down at her stomach. Even through the ruby lenses, he could see that she wasn't looking good, even if she wasn't bleeding. While her face was getting progressively paler, her torso was starting to turn a darker collection of colors. He'd seen cutters come into town back in Seven with injuries that looked like that — and he knew where it was headed.

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly drier. "How about ... I don't know. I can tell you something about back home, but you live there, too, and I've got nothing special to… maybe Kamala can…." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Tell me what _you_ miss, Scott," Clara said. "What do you miss most while we're stuck in this miserable hell hole?"

He leaned back so his head was resting against the wall above hers. "Not sure. The kids, maybe. Or carving." He nodded to himself. "Carving, yeah. Peace and quiet and detail work until it's time to go home from the day's work." He saw Kamala settle in on Clara's other side, her eyes wide, but when she glanced up at him, he shook his head the slightest bit, hoping she got the message.

"Who're the kids?" Kamala asked quietly.

"No names," Clara said softly. "Don't give names."

"From the orphanage, Kamala," Scott explained. "They're good kids. Smart, too." He glanced at Clara and let out his breath, trying to work out how best to talk her through. He went through most of the kids back home — no names, no descriptors that would give it away, just… stories. It was much easier than talking about himself, and he actually liked to talk up those kids. They'd be great someday, if they could only make it to adulthood.

"Hey," Kamala said suddenly, tapping Clara's arm. "Hey, stay awake. This is the most Scott's said in the history of ever, and you're missing it."

"It's okay," she said, though she sounded very sleepy and she wasn't opening her eyes. "He has a nice voice. I like it."

"But ... you're…" Kamala stammered through the words, trying to find something to say.

Scott glanced at her for a moment, glad for the first time that the glasses hid his expression so he could pull off a convincing comforting look — or what he hoped was one anyway in spite of the fact that his chest hurt watching Clara fade. With one hand on her shoulder, he waited until Clara stopped breathing and the cannon went off. And when Kamala choked on a sob, he let her bury her face in his shoulder until she was done, not even moving until after he heard the whine of the transport that came for Clara.

"We have to move now," he told Kamala quietly. "Someone might have followed the transport."

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

13\. Remy LeBeau, District Eight Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

12\. Trevor Slattery, District Three Male - Killed by America Chavez

11\. Billy Kaplan, District Twelve Male - Killed by Gamemaker poison

10\. Elizabeth Braddock, District Two Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

9\. Jean Gray, District One Female - Killed by Scott Summers

8\. Kitty Pryde, District Eight Female - Killed by James Barnes

7\. Clara Creed, District Seven Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama


	35. Clone!

**(A/N): Yeah... sorry... it's... probably just going to get worse, sorry *snuggles you***

* * *

 **Chapter 35: Clone!**

* * *

 _In the Capitol_

* * *

When the cannon went off for Clara Creed, Victor simply disappeared — out of sight, away from everyone. And for the first time in a long time, the entire gathered group of victors was silent as they watched him leave.

Logan had gone very quiet and still. Although Clara hadn't been his responsibility, she'd made a point to spend her free time with him over her brother, and he had honestly come to enjoy being around her. He hadn't thought he'd want a thing to do with her to start with, but she was such a polar opposite to Victor in so many ways …

But as awful as that was, watching poor little Kamala fall to pieces while Scott barely held himself in check was so disheartening that he didn't have any way to even begin to express it. Scott was done. It would be all about protecting Kamala from then on, which was fine. Logan could understand that. He just didn't know what would happen if Kamala died before Scott did.

"You alright?" Jess asked as she sat down next to him. She paused, then clarified, "Relatively speaking."

"I wish you'd quit asking me that," Logan replied.

"Sorry. Reflex," she said with a frown. She took a deep breath, still watching him. "Never thought I'd have been rooting for a Creed."

"She was good," Logan said. "All the way around."

"Creed's pissed," she remarked.

"Course he is," Logan scoffed. "He's got a right to be."

"I'm just saying — stay out of his path," she said, giving him a look. "You two have been on the same page the last few days, and it's freaking me out, to be honest."

"More or less than Bobbi with Viper?"

"I'm just saying. It's a little creepy. On both accounts, if you're keeping score, sure."

"I don't know what to tell you," Logan said flatly before he sighed and looked around the room. "I'm headed out. Have fun with the crowd. Maybe you can go to the next to tea party with _Ophelia._ "

Jess pulled a horrible face. "No thank you."

He smirked as he reached behind the bar and pulled out two full bottles of whiskey. "Come on, Jess. I think you two'd get along fine." He started toward the exit and shook his head at her on his way out.

No one tried to stop him — not when they saw he was packing booze with him anyhow, and when he got up to the Seven suite, he was not surprised in the least to find the place completely trashed already, with Victor clearly looking for a fight. He didn't say a word as he approached, and when he got close enough, he silently offered Victor a bottle by holding it over his shoulder nearly in his face. Creed paused, seemed to consider it and then took the bottle without comment.

Logan watched him for a while before he opened his own bottle and dropped to the floor across from him, and the two of them simply drank in silence.

* * *

 _July 16th: Day Ten of the Games_

 _District Seven Suite_

* * *

When Logan woke up the next morning, he had honestly expected to wake up the way he did. He was sore as hell, and his jaw was aching. A quick peek in the mirror let him know that the night had not passed without Creed taking out some of his frustrations on him. Jubilee would be mad about that. _Purple_ , he was told, was _not_ his color. And there were plenty of purple marks across his body.

She wasn't the only one with something to say about how he'd spent the night, either. He dragged himself to his feet and stretched out, wincing at the new aches and sore spots before he found a message waiting for him on his tablet. He almost lazily checked it while the coffee was brewing, sighing to himself because of course she'd have been aware of what was going on.

 _Your decision-making skills are just getting worse. What were you thinking? WERE you thinking?_

Logan shook his head and let out a sigh as he tried to figure out a witty way to explain it, but he simply wasn't with it enough to try and lie. _Did I do something wrong that I should know about?_ He texted back.

The response was almost immediate: _Drinking with Creed. WHY._

For an instant, he thought about sending back something snarky, but again, he took half a moment and went with the second impulse. _His sister just died. She was a good person._

But at that, Skye took a much longer time to reply, and when she did, it was just one word: _Fine_.

Logan glared at that; he'd had about enough of all these girls second guessing his every move and he honestly didn't see what was wrong with joining the guy in mourning his sister. _Good morning to you too._

 _Good morning, sunshine. Try not to do anything else stupid today. I'm not there to bail you out._

 _But it's so hard not to when everything I do is considered stupid by one person or another._

 _At least wait until I'm there so I can practice lying to Fury. I need some hilarious excuses to model._

He was irate over the mention of the Head Gamemaker and Director of SHIELD. Still. Fury's warning was a little off-putting when applied to Parker's aunt and Kurt's siblings. _Fury can bite me._

 _You know, it's not good for your long-term health if you let Creed drink with you and ALSO let Fury take a bite out of you. There will be nothing left, and then who'll teach me how to cheat at poker?_

He had to smirk at that, but he knew no answer would let her think that he was considering it. _May's a good cheater._

There was a long pause before Skye's response. _Yeah, but she's not as funny._

 _Or as stupid. But don't worry. There can't be long left to go now._

 _Not with just six left. Scott's doing well._ There was a pause. _Sorry. About Clara. I liked her too._

He swallowed and let his head drop, waiting for a moment to try to find a way to switch the subject, since he didn't want to talk about Scott or Clara. _Just do me a favor and warn me if you're going to be Ronan's date to the victory party. It'd be hard to keep a straight face between watching you AND Quill panic._

 _You have a twisted sense of humor, you know that?_

He actually chuckled at that. _I hate this. No inflection. And I thought you liked my humor._

 _I do, I'm just making sure you know it's twisted,_ she replied, with a quick followup: _Sorry about the format. I couldn't swing video with how outdated your tablet is._

 _It's fine. You really don't want to see me right now anyhow._ As soon as he hit the send button, he ran a hand through his hair. Yeah. It was gonna be a countdown to Jubilee screeching.

 _I've seen you shirtless before. I promise not to faint._

He blinked for a moment, and responded quickly. _I'm uglier than I was yesterday._ But after he sent it, he frowned and glanced down at his bare chest, wondering if she was poking in through the camera system. _What makes you think I'm shirtless?_

 _You always are. And try not to make it any worse. By making bad decisions. (Imagine me making a very smug face at you. Does that help?)_

Logan paused for a moment, smirking to himself, but decided that the opportunity just couldn't be passed up. _Smug. Is that the one where you're blushing?_

 _No,_ was the very quick, one-word response, followed up by: _I thought you could read people._

 _I can. But I'm sticking with that one if I'm imagining you making faces at me._

There was another little pause before Skye's response. _Gotta go. Boss came in. Time for work - talk to you later._

He laughed to himself at that and made a point to stretch out a lot better, hands over his head and ignoring the bruises and injuries.

He glanced down at the tablet one more time, shaking his head as he poured his coffee. "Don't need to see it to know that was a cop out," he said into his coffee cup before he settled in to watch the morning news, now confident that he was right about her lack of interest.

* * *

 _In the Arena_

* * *

It had taken them a while, because Miles wasn't sure about his internal compass, but he and America eventually made their way all the way back to where the Tesseract was. Or, really, what was left of it after the bloodbath and after the Careers had picked through everything that they wanted from it.

"Gotta be something useful you can use in this instead of those stupid venom things," America muttered under her breath as she started to pick her way through the supplies.

Miles shielded his eyes from the mid-morning sun as he looked around the area. "You know, we're probably not the only ones with this idea. Food. Water. Weapons."

"Yeah, I know, I know. You want to trap them like a…. What's that spider called?"

"Trapdoor spider," Miles told her. "Read about it—"

"—at school, I know." She shook her head as she sorted through the scraps left at the big blue box and let out a little 'aha' when she found a pack that had some protein bars in it. "Not much, but…" She tossed a couple of them Miles' way, and both of them ate ravenously. Sure, Billy's system had ensured that they had water, but food was harder to come by, and they were both starving.

"More of that would be nice," Miles told her, still munching on half of his bar as he picked through the bags and other weapons. He spotted one that was rather well-hidden, wedged between a couple rocks, and he frowned at it.

"My whole entire body is screaming 'trap' right now," he told no one in particular as he edged toward the bag, gently prodding it with the tip of his toe. He winced, but when nothing happened, he reached down and yanked the bag free, grinning to himself when he heard the sloshing sound that meant there was water inside.

"Hey, America!" he called out, turning her way — only to come face to face with someone who was definitely, definitely _not_ America.

It was totally unnerving, like looking in a mirror, only a mirror that had a sword and made a mechanical sort of clicking and whirring noise as the _thing_ that looked just like Miles moved its gears to twist into an approximation of a grin.

Miles stared at it, frozen in place, barely an inch away from the mechanical doppelganger, and then he simply turned around and _booked_ it.

"CLONE!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, headed for America. "Cl-o-o-o-o-one!"

America looked up in time to see Miles running at full speed toward her — and she glanced over her other shoulder to see that there was more than one Miles in the desert at the Tesseract. She swore under her breath, her hands up in fists in front of her — though at least it was obvious which one was Miles. The one screaming about clones.

There were about three of them in all besides the original, each with mechanical smiles and long swords that America saw now would make it difficult to get close enough to pound their circuitry. And Miles' venom would do absolutely nothing against robots, despite his claims that they were clones.

"Find something to fight with!" she called out to Miles, searching the remains of the Tesseract for _anything_ she could use. All she had to do was get one of the swords from the 'clones,' and she'd be fine, but until then, she needed something with _length_.

As for Miles, he was running through the area at top speed, now less panicked and more focused with every breath as he desperately looked for something he could use. It was just luck that had him ducking down after a pair of sai.

He could actually feel the momentum of the sword swing as it passed over his head, and he gulped convulsively as he popped back up to his feet.

The clone Miles grinned at him with a mouth that was all teeth — no distinctions between the teeth, white and grinning. "That's just… wrong. Wrong and creepy," Miles informed the clone, who had absolutely none of his sense of humor, clearly, because the clone didn't say anything as it lunged for him, sword in hand.

Miles barely managed to bring the sai up in time, but it took both of them to parry the sword strike. "Oh. Okay. I see. No sense of humor. What — you traded it out for super strength?" He ducked another swing. "I'd get your money back, dude. This look is not working for you."

Meanwhile, America had her hands full with the other two clones of MIles. She hadn't found anything quite as useful as Miles had — not within reach, anyway. There was a scythe; there was always a scythe in case a tribute from Nine wanted to play up to the stereotype. But it was beyond the two weirdly grinning clones with swords.

And there was a staff, but the way those swords were gleaming, she wasn't entirely sure it would hold up. Still, it was better than nothing, and she dived forward, grabbing the long staff with one hand to swing it almost blindly, and to her shock, she collided with the side of one of the clones. The impact shook her arms, but it also knocked the clone entirely off course and nearly into its partner before it course corrected.

America bared her teeth. "Alright then," she said, rushing forward with the staff extended. It wasn't hand-to-hand, but it gave her reach, and it was at least something that she could use with her strength.

She batted the second clone across the side of its head, hard enough that it buzzed and whirred in confusion for a moment before it lunged toward her again. But this time, when she brought her staff up, she was frustrated when the other clone lunged as well, slicing the staff neatly into a few pieces when she tried to use it to block the sword.

"Well, that's just _great_ ," she muttered, dropping the now useless pieces.

The two Miles clones rushed for her, and she managed to twist away from one, but the second tore a long cut across her shoulders. It was glancing, but it still stung, and she could feel the warm blood trickling down her back and mixing with the sweat and she glanced around for the nearest usable weapon — and her sights settled on the scythe just beyond her reach.

She sprinted for it and dove, rolling with the weapon as soon as she had it in her hands — and a sword came crashing down inches from her, right where her head had been a moment ago.

It wasn't her preferred weapon, but at least this thing had reach, and she swung out with it with her teeth bared, meaning to just take the thing's head off.

She was short, though. She'd never swung a scythe before.

"Oh, come _on_ ," she muttered under her breath as she was forced to jump backward just to avoid getting a sword in her side. She readjusted her grip on the scythe, gritted her teeth, and dove back into the fight.

Meanwhile, Miles was trying to hold his own against the single clone that had targeted him.

"I knew I should have spent more time doing pushups," he muttered to himself, his arms shaking with exertion from trying to parry the strikes by the Miles clone. The mechanical Miles had way more power to his strikes than the actual Miles did, and he also wasn't tired from ten days in a death arena with very little food and water.

"All things considered, I would like to point out that I'm doing very well right now!" Miles half-shouted. He wasn't sure who to, but he … that was how he reacted to stress, apparently. He had to talk about it.

The clone made a sweeping motion, and Miles raised both sai to defend himself against the blow, but at the last second, the clone feinted, instead kicking out to sweep Miles' feet out from underneath him so that he landed flat on his back with an 'oof.'

"AUGH!" Miles shouted, rolling to the side as the clone seemed determined to press his sword as deeply into the sand as possible — with Miles with it, if it could.

He scrambled to get back to his feet, but as soon as he was halfway there, he felt something tear at his side, and it took him a moment to realize it was the very tip of an incredibly sharp sword.

"Oh… crap," he muttered, eyes wide as he glanced down at the steadily-growing red stain there. The clone tried to take advantage of his distraction with a swing that would have taken Miles head off if the young man hadn't instinctively ducked, but already, his vision was swimming.

He stumbled to his knees and heard the clatter as he dropped his sais, but as the Miles clone pulled back for the final blow, something weird happened. Its head … fizzled and slid sideways off of its neck, and the whole thing collapsed in a heap.

"Oh. Hey. America Chavez," Miles said, and he wasn't entirely sure why, but he broke into a little giggle. "You killed me. I mean... the other me. Good job."

America was fairly bloody herself, the scythe held in one hand as she glanced around one more time — just to be sure they'd gotten all the clones, and dropped to one knee, rather clumsily, beside him. She was favoring one side, and Miles could see that it was splattered with blood just under her arm.

"Oh, hey. We match," he said, trying and failing to gesture at his own side, since his arms didn't really want to listen to him when he told them to move.

"Not quite," America said with a little frown as she saw the way Miles' eyes kept drooping shut, and when she reached out to see the wound in his side and how bad it was, he laid his head on her shoulder, unable to support himself on his own anymore.

"I'm tired," he muttered into her shoulder.

She stiffened as he continued to lean harder on her — moreso when she saw the pool of blood staining the sand around them and knew there was _no way_ he'd come back from it. She couldn't stop it in time, though that didn't stop her in the least from trying as she pressed her hand to his side.

But he leaned more and more heavily into her until she was the only thing keeping him up — and when he slipped sideways, it was only two seconds before the _boom_ of the cannon told her that he was gone.

She stared at him, in the sudden silence, and simply swore under her breath. "Told you not to die on me, you _idiot_ ," she told him — or at least, she started to. She didn't quite make it through the sentence before it caught in her throat, and then she simply had to bury her face in her knees, drawn up to her chest, trying unsuccessfully to pretend that the heavy, ugly breaths she took didn't mean she was crying.

* * *

Whatever venom had been in Miles' 'venom blast,' it wasn't kind to Bucky in the slightest.

It seemed to be breaking down his body from the inside, particular in his left arm, where he had been tagged by the venom-laced throwing star. He had long ago lost any sense of feeling from his elbow down, and he didn't really like looking at it, because it had turned a sort of blackish-gray color that honestly had him worried. The venom was necrotic, and where Miles had hit him, it looked like his arm was pulling away from the rest of his body, slowly but surely.

It was wearing, too. He could tell he was severely dehydrated from how much effort it took to part his lips to take a drink from the last few gulps of his water bottle — they were parched and dry, and all the fluid in his body was simply coming out of his left side. And he knew it.

His injury was going to kill him, but for some reason, he kept stumbling forward. He was too tired to know exactly _why_ or _where_ he was going, but he went — right up until he saw the bluish hue of the Tesseract and realized that he must have come full circle.

There might be water there at the very least, so he slid down to where the supplies were, not really paying attention to anything but searching through what the Careers had left behind — until he heard the shout behind him.

He didn't really have time to process it as the bushy-headed girl from Twelve simply tackled him, and her first punch already had his head ringing, since he was pretty well out of it going in.

"How are you still _alive_?" she asked, clearly not actually expecting an answer as she set to pounding on him to make sure the situation was remedied as quickly as possible.

With the venom running through his veins and the dehydration that had set in, it really didn't take too many hits before Bucky had been knocked unconscious, though America kept right on pounding him and kicking him with as much fury as she had when she started. His head, sides, chest — they were all a mess by the time she stepped back to let the transport come for him, and his arm could hardly be considered to be attached either.

She stepped back to let the transport come for Bucky, realizing in the back of her mind that she hadn't even heard the cannon, not with her blood roaring in her ears the way it had been. "Gotta tone it back," she muttered to herself, wiping her hands off on the rocks, though that wasn't effective at all at getting the blood off of her hands. She needed a shower in the worst kind of way, but there were still three other kids out there, and she had to _keep going_.

Bucky hadn't even done her any real damage, not with how much Miles had hurt him, and America sighed to herself as she looked around for something she could wipe down her arms and hands with. It felt too much like murder… and besides, she'd want to scrub off the blood so whatever had infected his arm didn't get her, too — and then she'd need to catch up with the others.

By her count, she was still fairly sure there was at least one other kid from up on the roof in the Capitol. Maybe, just maybe, somebody _decent_ could still win this thing if she got her butt in gear and got _moving_ to make sure it happened.

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

On seeing his best friend's deteriorating condition, all Steve could do while he watched the screen was just hope against all sane thought that Bucky would pull through it somehow. He knew it was a totally irrational hope, against all odds, because he'd watched America's alliance and knew that Miles had dosed his throwing stars, but that was just … how could one little cut have Bucky's whole arm looking like it was ready to just fall _off_?

"He's not even trying," Steve muttered to himself as he watched Bucky, though Ororo was close enough to hear it too. "And even if he was — how's he going to fight with one arm?"

Ororo tried to give him some kind of encouragement, even if she knew it looked back. "Same way I fought with one eye, or Clint with one ear, or Wade with … his … issues," she said diplomatically.

Steve nodded to himself with a little self conscious 'yeah', but he didn't know that it was really the same. The three of them had learned long before going into the Games how to handle it, and Bucky … well. If someone didn't kill him first, then Miles Morales would have a post-mortem death on his hands, and Steve knew it.

When Bucky came up to the Tesseract though, Steve just shook his head. America was still in good shape — and clearly ticked off about losing the kids in her group. There was no other way the fight was going to go.

But to see Bucky totally resigned to it when he saw her, to watch him not even so much as raise his good arm to block before America got to work … that was just …

Steve didn't stick around to watch America finish the job before he left the room to find some private place to hide and make sense of everything.

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

13\. Remy LeBeau, District Eight Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

12\. Trevor Slattery, District Three Male - Killed by America Chavez

11\. Billy Kaplan, District Twelve Male - Killed by Gamemaker poison

10\. Elizabeth Braddock, District Two Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

9\. Jean Gray, District One Female - Killed by Scott Summers

8\. Kitty Pryde, District Eight Female - Killed by James Barnes

7\. Clara Creed, District Seven Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

6\. Miles Morales, District Eleven Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

5\. James Barnes, District Five Male - Killed by America Chavez


	36. The Final Four

**Notes: Such a good Elf to worry about Katie-Kate AND Steeb. *mwuah* Sorry in advance for the horrible awfulness...**

* * *

 **Chapter 36: The Final Four**

* * *

 _July 17th: Day Eleven of the Games_

 _In the Arena_

* * *

Losing Clara had been tough, and once Kamala had fallen asleep the night before, Scott finally let himself go a little bit. He didn't even mean for it to happen — the shutting down like he had done — but once he was alone, he had just… folded in on himself.

The glasses afforded him some privacy in that no one could really see his eyes properly to witness the raw hurt. And because of the red lenses, even when she was awake, Kamala couldn't _see_ that he was crushed. That he was upset by watching Clara slip off the way she did — bleeding to death inside her own body.

But it was a new day, and the two allies had spent all morning and into the afternoon setting up all kinds of traps that would allow them to deal with tributes and mutts alike from a distance — and with a little luck, they wouldn't need to get their hands dirty at all.

The truth was — Scott wasn't sure he _could_ do it again. Jean screaming ... on fire … it was burned into his brain. But he knew for a fact that Kamala didn't need that on her hands, didn't want that on her hands. So traps… distance… This was what he _could_ do. And if it came down to it...

Well, none of that was something to deal with for now. Now it was time to just … get to work. Finish setting up the deadfalls that they were working on. Hope that they worked like Kamala swore they would.

He was balancing a rock while she set up the little wedge that would be pulled when the trigger was tripped, sweating heavily and straining under the exertion until she cheerfully called out that she was done. But even then, he didn't let it go until he knew that Kamala was well away from the large rock near the edge of the cliff.

He did _not_ want to be the guy to lose an ally because he'd _slipped._

Kamala bounded up to him with a shadow of her usual grin. He knew that losing Clara had affected her badly, but she was doing her best to pretend she wasn't hurting. Part of it was for his sake, he knew, but watching her… She was just built like that. Stronger than anyone had given her credit for being, in a way that people always overlooked. She could bounce back, survive anything. He just had to make sure she got past the Games, and then she could handle the rest.

She wiped the palms of her hands off on her pants and smiled up at him. "Thanks," she said. "I probably couldn't have set traps like this without you."

She was trying to keep up the smile and the pretense of the ease back-and-forth from earlier in the Games, so he tried, too, raising one eyebrow. "Probably?" he teased.

"Hey, I'm stronger than I look," she said, her hands on her hips.

He had to smirk to himself, since he'd been thinking that very thing only moments ago. "You really are," he said, entirely serious.

She bumped her shoulder with his until she caught the very corner of a smile, and the two of them headed back down, following the line of the traps they'd set. The whole plan, of course, hinged on the other tributes coming to _them_ , but it was such a spectacular setup, and Kamala was so excited about all her hard work, that Scott hoped the Gamemakers would send someone their way.

Well, he didn't _really._ He wasn't sure he could get any more blood on his hands.

But it would be better to meet them here, on their terms, than to go out hunting; he knew that much.

It didn't help that he knew who was left, too. The girl from Ten was skulking about, and Scott wasn't sure what Kamala would do when faced with that girl again. Scott wasn't sure what _he_ would do, facing the girl who killed Clara. And America — he'd gotten to know her through their stylists, and had been up on the roof with them every night, talking about how she wanted someone _else_ to win. If they met up with her, Scott half hoped she'd help him see Kamala safely through, with an attitude like she'd had going in... but with Billy gone, he didn't have a guarantee.

He leaned against the wall of the desert mountains, his arms screaming with the effort of holding up those boulders. But he had to admit, it was a brilliant trap. Anyone who wanted to get to them would have to go past one of the trigger points. Unless they were _exceptional_ climbers, they would likely be flattened, or at least injured….

It would be their luck that the girl from Ten was probably a good climber, but he pushed that out of his mind. If she came for Kamala again…. He would stop her. He _had_ to.

"Whatcha thinking, fearl- uh, Scott?" Kamala asked.

He frowned at the slight pause and shook his head as he pushed off from the wall. "Just admiring your good work. This really is impressive, Kamala," he told her, and he was earnest about it.

She smiled at him and lightly punched him in the arm, but before she could reply, both of them heard what distinctly sounded like _skittering._

It was the only warning they had, and Scott threw himself sideways, his shoulders squared to Kamala as he ducked out of the way of a huge, horrible, black _something_ that zipped toward them so fast they were lucky to have avoided it at all.

When he glanced up to see the mutt getting ready to charge again, the bottom fell out of his stomach. A black widow spider, its legs at least twice the length of Scott's body, had found the two of them. It was _huge_ , gleaming, the red hourglass practically shining in the bright desert sunlight.

" _Run!_ " He pushed Kamala ahead of him as best he was able, somehow getting his feet underneath him. Neither of them had the kind of weaponry that could deal with something this _huge_ , not with daggers and knives, and the giant mutt had come up the sides of the canyon walls, avoiding all of their carefully-laid traps. The best chance they had was to put distance between them and it and hope they were faster than the spider was.

But it was very quickly apparent that they couldn't outrun the spider. It skittered across the desert wall, eight eyes gleaming in its head as it rubbed its pincers together. Scott could see the venom dripping of its long fangs — they had to have been enhanced by the Capitol — and he fought to keep Kamala behind him as the spider raised up on four legs into an aggressive stance.

"Now what?" Kamala asked, her voice wavering. He could feel her grip on the sleeve of his shirt — she was clearly terrified — and he glanced around the valley, trying to find something… anything…

"We'll trigger the trap," he told her, still motionless, watching the spider as its front legs, still raised, seemed to gleam — they were probably sharp at the edges too. "The northeast one."

It was the closest trap to their position, and it was clear that Kamala knew it as she glanced up above them at the boulder carefully wedged over their heads. "How do we get there?" she asked.

" _You_ get there," he said, very carefully taking out the knife in his pants pocket. "It can't track both of us at once, so when I say move, _move_."

Kamala's eyes widened, and it was clear she was gearing up to argue with him as she screwed up her whole face. "Scott—"

But they didn't have time for an argument. "RUN!" he shouted. He burst into motion toward the spider, throwing the knife as he did so — so that he was sure to get its attention.

It wasn't much against the _huge_ spider, but the blade embedded itself deeply into the spider's head, and the flurry of hissing and clicking that filled the valley was downright unnerving as the giant thing rushed right for Scott.

This… was the part of the plan he wasn't sure he'd quite thought out.

He hadn't made it more than a few steps before the huge mutt caught up to him, and he quickly found out that he'd been right about the legs — they did have sharp tips. That much was evidenced by the sharp, almost tingling sensation in his arm as the spider stopped over him.

He glanced up and saw that he was directly beneath the long, glistening fangs, and he threw himself sideways to avoid the bite. It wasn't a perfect plan — but he only had to make it another few yards to where Kamala would be waiting to drop a boulder on the thing.

He saw the pincers out of the corner of his eye, and it was enough that he was able to duck, but the spider caught him on the fabric of his shirt, yanking him to a stop until he managed to tear free, most of the fabric still in the spider's pincers. He couldn't see Kamala anymore, just the shadow of a huge, bulbous abdomen with the red hourglass, as well as the dripping fangs inches away from him as the spider snapped her mandibles.

He scrambled backward, trying to keep his momentum. In the tangle of legs around him, he had no idea how close he was to the mark, and as he turned to get out of the way of the fangs, he let out an 'oof' as two of the black widow's front legs hit him on either side. The spider was strong enough and the legs long enough that it set him back a few steps — and then it lunged again.

Scott threw up both of his arms in defense, stumbling back and away from the legs, but the spider was prodding at him, almost like it was testing him. It would hit him with two, three, even four legs, allowing the sharp tips to tear at his skin and clothes. It would wait to see what he would do, the pincers clicking the whole time. If he tried to bolt, or move, the legs would come down on him again, poking and prodding and pushing, until he was left standing there, his hands raised in defense, long and jagged cuts across his arms and chest as he never took his gaze off the dripping fangs.

He wasn't getting anywhere, and this spider was going to keep wearing him down at this rate. And since there had been no boulder crashing down to squish the thing, he knew he hadn't gotten close enough to the mark for Kamala to help him either.

He took in a deep breath and quietly nodded to himself as he made his decision — and threw everything he had into a dash toward Kamala's mark.

He didn't get very far before the long, shining legs were in his way — but he was done trying to play it safe with this thing. If he didn't move _now_ , it was going to wear him down, and then it would come after Kamala.

He threw everything he had into pushing back against the front legs, grunting with the effort. He could _feel_ the gashes tearing into his arms as he did, but it was enough — _just_ enough — that the spider seemed to startle and circle around in front of Scott to cut off his avenue of escape.

It was exactly where Kamala's mark was, and Scott skidded to a stop, bleeding and panting as he actually _grinned_ at the giant spider. The thing had no idea what was about to hit it — its only concern was subduing the prey it had in front of it.

Two massive legs crashed down into Scott, pinning him to the ground. He suddenly couldn't see anything but massive mandibles, the fangs inches from his face, before they sank deeply into his chest. They were long enough that he could feel them scraping under his chin, and he couldn't stop the scream as both fangs sank in deeper, pumping venom into his chest.

The fangs were still sinking in when there was a terrible rumbling noise above both Scott and the mutt. The spider seemed to sense that something was wrong and not only reasserted its grip on its prey, but seemed to try and pull Scott in, possibly to make off with its meal — an instant before the boulder fell on its huge, bulbous, black abdomen.

Scott cried out as the fangs ripped free from his chest, and the spider clicked and hissed and struggled for only a few more seconds, black and red goop staining the sand as much as Scott's own blood, until it finally quieted down and lay still.

"Scott!" Kamala cried out, but when Scott tried to turn his head to follow her voice, he was surprised to find that he simply couldn't move. His muscles weren't responding. If anything, it felt like everything was tearing itself apart inside of him, bubbling in liquid fire under his skin, and when he tried to draw breath, all he could manage was a terrible sort of gurgled gasp.

He didn't think he had many more of those breaths left in him, if he was being honest.

* * *

"RUN!"

As soon as the command was out of Scott's mouth, he'd rushed the huge spider thing, and Kamala startled. She hadn't been prepared to move yet, but when she saw that the spider had its focus on Scott, she started to climb as fast as she could.

It was a hard climb; they had purposefully set their traps in areas that other tributes would have a hard time avoiding their trigger point. It was a good plan; but they hadn't taken into account _giant spiders that could climb over all their hard work._

She was crying already as she pulled herself up to the top of the ledge, because the valley bowled in on itself, creating a sort of echo chamber. She could hear every horrible hiss and click of the spider's mandibles, every sound as the spider hit Scott again and again. She glanced over her shoulder once — only once — in time to see a near miss and gritted her teeth, pushing herself that much harder, determined to make it to her mark before the spider took too much out of Scott.

She knew she didn't have _time_ , but maybe — maybe if it kept poking at him instead of straight up _eating_ him….

Finally, she found the top of the ledge, and she pulled herself over, hardly pausing and ignoring the stitch in her side and the fact that she barely had enough air to keep from needing to sit down before she threw herself into a sprint toward the carefully wedged boulder. It wouldn't take much to kick the wedge out, but if the spider wasn't in place, the only thing a falling boulder would do was cut off an escape route for Scott.

If he wasn't crushed...

She pushed the thought out of her mind. No, she _was_ going to get there in time, and she _was_ going to save Scott. He'd be covered in spider goo, but…

When she got to where the boulder was, she finally looked down to see how Scott was doing, and she had to bite her lip to keep back the cry of dismay when she saw that the creature had him pinned down, unable to move without running into one of those long, glistening legs.

But they weren't anywhere near the mark. If Kamala kicked out the wedge now, it would only be a very loud noise, not anything damaging — though she honestly considered it as she watched Scott struggling to move even an inch in any direction. Maybe a loud noise would scare it off or… or _something._

It was agony, watching and _waiting_ , rooting for Scott to get any kind of forward motion. Any at all. He was bleeding; he was hurt, and she wanted to be down there to help. But she was right where she was supposed to be, right where he'd _told_ her to be.

She was holding her breath, ready to _move,_ and when the spider swung around to get in front of Scott, Kamala kicked out the wedge.

It just… it wasn't fast enough.

The boulder tipped slowly at first but then fell fast, crashing down onto the giant creature and dragging smaller rocks along with it. But the spider was faster, and Kamala heard the awful scream when the fangs sank into Scott's chest. She was sure a cannon wasn't far behind ...but all she heard was the boulder, and a few final clicks. No cannon.

 _No cannon_.

"Scott!" she shouted, already scrambling down to find him.

He was just … lying there on the desert sands, sprawled out and bleeding. She couldn't see if he was breathing or not, but he _had_ to be. He had to ... or … there would have been a cannon blast.

She rushed to him where he was laid out — limbs askew and facing her direction. "Scott!" she shouted as she rushed closer. She was within an arm's reach of him when she tripped over her own feet on the uneven ground. Before she could get up, the sound of a blade cutting through flesh echoed in the valley, and Kamala's eyes widened, unable to breathe enough to scream.

She met Scott's red-lensed gaze as he tried desperately to shout — or scream — or something. But he was stuck, staring at Kamala's wide eyes and open mouth before she coughed up a trickle of blood and collapsed forward, with Yuriko's shortsword buried to the hilt through her back.

Yuriko herself was clearly hurting. The slashes from Clara had not stopped weeping, and one arm hung limply — obviously injured from her previous battles. But there she still stood, glaring venomously at Scott, not even looking at Kamala.

Scott watched as the tall girl from Ten withdrew the blade. Kamala turned to try and fight her off from the ground, grasping at the blade in a desperate attempt to stop her, but Yuriko stabbed Kamala again and again until the cannon went off. And then she did it once more — staring right at Scott as if she were challenging him to be the one the cannon was for.

She left the blade embedded and stuck into the sand as she stepped over Kamala's still body and positively strutted over to where Scott was lying paralyzed.

"Why did you put so much effort into protecting her?" Yuriko asked as she traced the back of her hand along his jaw. "She would have been so much more useful had you fed her to the spider. You might still have had a chance for me to kill you honorably." She tutted a bit as she watched the blood seep from his chest. "But to kill you now would be like putting down an old dog. Too merciful."

With a smirk, Yuriko walked a few paces away and waited, watching for the moment and looking overly smug about herself. But, as Scott began to gasp for his last few breaths, Yuriko was too focused on watching him die to hear the angry, frizzy haired girl coming up behind her faster with every step.

America's fist made contact with the side of Yuriko's head at the exact moment the cannon went off for Scott. Which was the only reason the sound of brass hitting bone was obscured to everyone but America and Yuriko.

"No. Way. In. _Hell_. Are. _You._ Winning," America said through her teeth, punctuating every word with a blow as she worked up to a pure fury, not at all noticing the pull in her side that meant she was tearing open the sword wound that one of the Miles clones had given her. She couldn't be bothered with something so meaningless when she was so focused on punishing the girl in her grasp.

In spite of the punishment — or perhaps because of it — Yuriko scrambled back enough to swing her leg around and hit America in the side, buying her only a moment as she started to make her way back toward her discarded sword.

Of course, that meant she was headed for where Kamala was still lying, and that only seemed to incense America more. She tackled Yuriko from behind, falling short of the full grasp on the Ten girl's body — she grabbed her around the shins. It had the desired effect as both girls went down in a tumble.

Yuriko threw her elbow back, and caught her attacker in the face, though her blows weren't anywhere near what America was still able to dish out. With little more than her nose bloodied and her lip split, America grinned and put her shoulder into Yuriko's injured one. When Yuriko reflexively cried out and grabbed a handful of America's long hair to try to get the upper hand, America grabbed her hair at the roots and turned. And since her hair was long enough, it wasn't any trouble for her to _bite_ down hard on Yuriko's wrist, easily drawing blood, and forcing Yuriko let go.

With another cry of rage, America laid both fists into Yuriko's sides at once, and when the breath left the villain in a rush, America followed it up with an uppercut that had blood dripping out of the corner of Yuriko's mouth when she managed to once again face America.

Yuriko was outmatched strength wise in hand to hand, and she knew it, so she made one more lunge for Kamala. The sword came free of the young girl with a horrible sound, and she swung it around, catching America in the shoulder, just at the joint.

America screamed out, and Yuriko allowed herself a small smile at the sound, but that only seemed to tick off the frizzy-haired girl more as she drove one knee into Yuriko's gut. America's hands grasped onto the blade itself as Yuriko folded and crumpled, but America kept the sword, since it was still lodged in her shoulder. She pulled it out with a cry and flipped it in her good hand, her gaze darting from Yuriko to Kamala before she swung the blade with everything she had. She wasn't going for elegance — she simply wanted to cut the Ten girl in half.

She got better than half of the way there, too — swinging the sword through flesh and across Yuriko's chest. Even after the cannon rang out, America didn't quite hear it or process what had happened until she realized that Yuriko had slumped to the ground and wasn't getting back up again.

Silence was ringing in her ears as she looked around the valley — at Kamala, at Yuriko, at Scott — and she suddenly dropped the sword. The clatter echoed too loudly, and she winced at the sound of it, but she didn't move at all, instead simply standing there in shock, bleeding and staring at the last three tributes that had died in rapid succession before her.

 _Gotta be someone else_ , she thought to herself before she heard the whine of the transport. She was completely ready to step aside so the transport could take the last of the kids, but instead, white-clad people started to file out of the transport and head right for her.

For one, fleeting second, she thought about calling out "clones" — because that had to be what was happening. More mutts. She'd miscounted; there had to be someone left.

But one of the medics came up to her with a friendly smile and a look of sympathy as she looked over America's side and shoulder. "Here, sweetie—" she started to say, an instant before America took a swing at her — and two seconds later, America felt like all the strength had drained out of her.

 _Poison_ , she thought numbly as she hit the ground and the medics carried her out of the arena.

* * *

24\. Monet St. Croix, District Eleven Female, Killed by Arkady Gregorovitch

23\. Jessica Jones, District Five Female - Killed by Zebediah Kilgrave

22\. Skurge, District Four Male - Killed by Clara Creed

21\. Brian Braddock, District Two Male - Killed by Giuletta Nefaria

20\. Giuletta Nefaria, District Three Female - Killed by Elizabeth Braddock

19\. Alex Summers, District Nine Male - Killed by Brock Rumlow

18\. Brock Rumlow, District Six Male - Killed by James Barnes

17\. Arkady Gregorovitch, District Ten Male - Killed by Remy LeBeau

16\. Amora, District Four Female - Killed by Clara Creed

15\. Gwen Stacy, District Eight Female - Killed by a long fall

14\. Zebediah Kilgrave, District One Male - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

13\. Remy LeBeau, District Eight Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

12\. Trevor Slattery, District Three Male - Killed by America Chavez

11\. Billy Kaplan, District Twelve Male - Killed by Gamemaker poison

10\. Elizabeth Braddock, District Two Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

9\. Jean Gray, District One Female - Killed by Scott Summers

8\. Kitty Pryde, District Eight Female - Killed by James Barnes

7\. Clara Creed, District Seven Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

6\. Miles Morales, District Eleven Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutts

5\. James Barnes, District Five Male - Killed by America Chavez

4\. Kamala Khan, District Six Female - Killed by Yuriko Oyama

3\. Scott Summers, District Six Male - Killed by Gamemakers' mutt

2\. Yuriko Oyama, District Ten Female - Killed by America Chavez

1\. America Chavez, District Twelve Female - VICTOR


	37. Aftermath

**Chapter 37:**

…...

 _In the Capitol_

…..

For an instant, before America took a swing at the medic, Jubilee just … gaped at the screen. "Noh ... _she won._ "

"She...did," Noh had to agree. He hadn't torn his gaze from the screen, and it was obvious he had no idea what to do. He'd never had a tribute win before; Black Bolt had been before his time. And he'd been on his way _out_ ….

Jubilee broke his stare of disbelief with a hug and a kiss to his cheek. "Hey. Smiles, remember?" she whispered.

He blinked at her before he seemed to realize what she was saying and nodded, a faint smile finding its way to his expression. "I'm — I really am glad for her…" he started to say.

"I know," Jubilee replied. "Really, I _know_."

"Jubilee," he whispered, meeting her gaze with wide eyes. "My Jubilee… I don't know what to do."

"I know, sweetheart," she whispered back. "We'll figure it out."

While Noh hugged Jubilee and used it for a cover for his utter loss as to what to do next, across the room, the victors had been much faster to start up the congratulations, even if Black Bolt didn't want to hear any of it and simply went right to Logan to put a hand on his shoulder.

 _Robbed,_ he signed out, his body blocking the main cameras so he could speak freely.

Logan shook his head lightly at that and offered Black Bolt his hand in congratulations. "Yeah, she was."

Black Bolt nodded his way before he went back to the other victors so they could all congratulate him, though it wasn't long at all before Jubilee made her way to where Logan was, with Noh still doing his best to follow her reminders to smile — despite the fact that he was obviously shocked.

"Noh, you look like you could use a drink," Logan said quietly. "Privately."

"That may be," Noh had to agree. "But there… there's so much…"

Logan's eyebrows went up at that. Never had the man been at a loss of words that he'd seen. "Okay, then one publicly — and we'll get you to privacy as fast as we can."

Noh nodded and gave Logan a very small smile. "I'll let you lead the way."

Logan looked between the two stylists and then to where Black Bolt was with a few victors then made his decision. "Okay, come on. Let's just … they'll come looking, I'm sure so do your rounds and then we can get you the hell out of wherever you're expected to be."

"Well, I am expected to be anywhere but where there is peace and silence," Noh said, finally regaining some of his composure with a plan of attack in place. He clearly had no guidelines, but following Logan's lead would work.

While Logan let Noh freak out and nearly lean on him for support under the guise of friendly congratulations, they waited for Black Bolt, who was with several of the other victors as they tried to calm down Peter Quill from the panic attack that had set in as soon as the shock of America's win had worn off and he realized that the Games were over. Which of course, meant that he was on the chopping block, and Groot had to help the young man put his head between his knees to get his breath back from the massive panic attack.

When it was clear that Groot and Drax had Peter at least flanked by support on either side, some of the victors seemed to back off, and Logan gave Black Bolt a look "You need a translator?"

Black Bolt considered the offer. _You or Jess?_

"Me, but only if she's preoccupied, I suppose," he said with a smirk. "Noh is a little … overwhelmed right now, so I wouldn't count on him. And I've heard stories about your escort."

 _The line_? Black Bolt signed, matching Logan's smirk for a moment.

"Yeah, that's what they're calling it."

Black Bolt nodded and searched the crowd for Jessica Drew, though he came up empty - and the reporters were pressing toward them. _Then let's field the questions._

Thankfully though, as the four of them headed toward the press, Jessica Drew quickly made her way over to them. "You trying to get started without me?" she asked as she stopped next to Black Bolt.

 _You were too slow_ , Black Bolt signed her way with a little smirk.

"Didn't realize there was a race," she replied, looking over the little group. "You an apprentice interpreter, then?" she finally asked Logan, unable to stop from grinning outright.

"Yeah, I only know one sign right now, but I think it's pretty universal," he shot right back. "Involves one finger … wanna see?"

"Save it for later," she said with a chuckle as she pulled her arm through Black Bolt's.

Logan looked at Black Bolt, and then gave him a little nod. "I'll talk to you later," he promised before he turned to Noh and Jubilee. "Just stick with them; come find me upstairs when you can."

"You aren't staying?" Noh asked, looking genuinely disappointed.

Logan let out a sigh and leaned closer to him so he could be sure the cameras were blocked well. "Jess is the one that knows how to sign, I'd be playin' charades out there for as far as they'd be concerned. But you know Jess is a good friend and she won't lead you wrong."

Noh looked visibly disappointed but nodded all the same. "Then ... I shall see you tonight. When perhaps Jubilee and I will figure out what… to do with our line…"

"Your line is safe," Logan promised. "Might be a little delayed, but don't worry about it."

"I never thought I would say this to you, Logan, but you are too optimistic in this case, I think," Noh said, looking honestly down about it.

"And you know damn well I'm not an optimist," Logan countered.

"Then we'll just have to see, won't we?" Noh said, one eyebrow raised, before he left with Jess, Black Bolt, and Jubilee in tow to play to the crowds.

* * *

 _Tahiti Wing_

 _Somewhere under the Capitol_

* * *

The rec room was completely silent as the Games footage came to an end. Everyone had gathered for the end, to see who would win - but no one had really been expecting it to be America. Scott or Kamala, sure, but… America had been so determined to see someone good to the end….

Kate and Cassie in particular had fallen into complete silence, not quite sure what to think. It was good that America hadn't _died_ , because like Coulson and Charles kept saying, there were no guarantees — but that also meant she wouldn't be there, with them. And it meant she'd go right on thinking Billy was dead even if they brought him back in Tahiti, which was completely unfair.

"So…" Peter glanced around the room, the first to break the silence. "Now we just… wait and see who comes back?" he asked tentatively.

Cassie nodded. "Last year, Carol came back a few days after the Games ended," she said softly, though her gaze hadn't left the screen.

"But this year, there will be the wedding to contend with," Kurt pointed out.

"And that's going to occupy Hank and Reed's time for a few days," Steve agreed, though he didn't look happy about the delay.

"But we'll get to see how that whole circus goes down, I'm sure," Peter said. "Because nothing is more important than feeding a tyrant's ego."

"I'm sure we'll get to see everything: the wedding, the celebrations… and then the victor recap for America," Kurt said.

"And all of it before they can send the victors back again," Peter pointed out with a frown. "How long are they okay before things are not okay?"

"There's never been a push like this," Jan said with her lips pushed out in a frown. "Usually, they get a few days to reckon with everything… recover… Charles could tell you better."

"Well … that's good then, right? I mean. If it's a big push, then they have to have been prepared for this kind of thing," Peter reasoned, though everyone could see it was more a desperate wish for everyone to be okay. He cleared his throat and quickly tried to change the subject. "But I still want to see the list of who they're going to try to bring back. I mean, they're here already, right? Somewhere? In the vampire's lair?"

"Yeah, the transports have been coming in since the bloodbath," Carol said. "Don't know who they brought, and we won't until they simply … show up here … walking around."

"After all the grief we've been giving Coulson, if the kids being worked on right now don't _at least_ include friends and family of this little group, I'd be surprised," Clint said, seeming to think it over. "I mean, I can see if I can sneak in and check…." He glanced Kate's way with a little smirk.

"You figure out how to break into the vampire's lair?" Peter asked, genuinely surprised.

"Ah, not quite," Clint admitted. "But I've been working on it pretty much since they woke me up, so… I'll figure something out."

"In the meantime, we just… wait, then?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Jan said softly. "I mean … they might get started on the prep work if it's not done already; that's all Dr. Essex."

"So the vampire's down there unattended with all our friends. Why doesn't that inspire me with confidence?" Peter grumbled.

"The vampire is the reason we're all here," Jan pointed out. "He is a medical genius."

Peter let out a long and dramatic sigh. "Fine. We'll wait. And go slowly insane. _Gah_." He threw his hands up to illustrate how particularly helpless everyone felt.

"Well… I'm sure in the meantime, we'll be plenty busy. Missions… eventually introducing the first few kids…" Cassie offered quietly. "That's how we always do it. Just… stay busy."

"Alright. That's … just the way it is for now, right?" Steve said. He set his shoulders, clearly trying to settle in for the duration. "We have to just … keep going, hope for the best and cross our fingers that it works out." He looked around the room. "And if it doesn't, we fix it," he added, to several murmurs and nods of assent.

* * *

 _Fitzsimmons' Lab_

* * *

The two SHIELD scientists in the lab had watched the end of the Games with wide eyes, almost unable to tear their attention from the screen. The giant black widow that they had created had done its job beautifully — it was supposed to be big enough to kill at least one tribute, and the way Kamala and Scott had killed it was masterful. But they were not at _all_ excited about their success in this regard.

"I can't believe he decided to send it in after all," Simmons whispered through the fingers of the hand she had pressed to her mouth.

"Oh, I can believe it. It was brilliant, but I still don't like it," Fitz said as the cannon rang for Kamala and he simply started pacing, hardly paying much attention to what was going on on the screen. They both kept it playing long enough to see who won, of course, but after their huge black widow had been crushed… honestly, they had other things on their mind than which girl in the intense wrestling match on the screen would come out the winner.

"Perhaps… we could have argued the venom we received from Dr. Essex was _too_ potent?" Simmons said, her hands clasped together now as she started to fret.

"A bit late for that," Fitz said with a grim look on his face.

Simmons let out a sigh but had to nod her agreement as she continued to rub her hands together, still with that same nearly destroyed expression. "Oh, he's going to be so mad," she whispered.

But when someone did come bursting through the lab doors — it wasn't Logan, since the victors were busily getting ready for the big wedding bash while America got herself stitched back together.

The two of them had never seen Skye look so _livid_ before as she stood in the doorway, glaring at both of them. "That thing was _yours_ , wasn't it?" she demanded of the two of them as they shared guilty looks that gave it away before she could even press them any further.

"Skye," Simmons started to say, looking torn. "There's no way we could have known…"

"...tried to recall it last week," Fitz mumbled at the same time.

"I can't believe you!" But Skye wasn't hearing any of it. "Do you know how _close_ he was? Do you even realize…" She let out a loud noise of frustration and knocked over the nearest stack of paper.

"We know, Skye," Simmons said, trying to calm her down. "He did amazingly well."

"Do you know what this is going to do to Logan?" Skye asked, not calmed in the slightest. "That kid… he was a _good kid_. And _you two_ sent a giant spider in and just…. He was a good kid!"

The two scientists gaped at her silently for a moment. "But _we_ didn't send it," Simmons said.

"And Logan doesn't _know anything about it_ ," Fitz added at a hushed whisper.

"You think he's not going to figure it out?" Skye asked. "He figured out what _I_ was doing easy enough."

"Well you probably left a window open or something," Simmons said, though her expression showed even she didn't believe that one and Skye's glare was enough to wilt her further.

"The only thing he _doesn't_ know is what's going on _downstairs_ ," Skye said pointedly. "So his dead tribute? As far as he's concerned…" She let the sentence dangle in the air and looked pained. "I gotta… I should check in on the cameras. Find out who he's drinking with…. You _know_ he's drinking."

"What good will that do?" Fitz asked. "It's not like we can do anything about it from here."

" _You_ might not be able to, but I am _not_ just leaving this as business as usual," Skye said in a huff, glaring as she leveled her index finger his way for a good, long moment before she turned on her heel and stalked out.

And, a few buildings over and a few minutes later, Logan's tablet chimed with the first of her messages.

But Logan didn't bother to look at the tablet, since he had other things on his mind at the moment — like the fact that Jubilee was trying to get him 'just so' for the wedding prep. Or the fact that Black Bolt looked like he was smirking at the entire display — since Noh had asked if he and his victor could prep with them so he could stay by Jubilee.

"I understand you needing to make me miserable, but do you really have to restrict my booze while you do it?" Logan asked her, batting her hand away from his hair. Again.

"You really want to be drunk around Nebula?" Jubilee replied without missing a beat.

"Might make the whole affair a little easier to handle," he shot right back.

"Just sit still, and I'll make this as painless as possible," she ordered him — not that he was really moving too much anyway.

"Too late for that," he muttered under his breath for her alone to hear, and Jubilee stopped, leaned forward until she was nose to nose with him, and pinched him, just to get him to swear.

The tablet chimed again, but again, it was left unanswered, and Noh glanced toward it with a look of curiosity before he shrugged. "I'm glad we don't have Mary Jane's job right now," he said, glancing at Jubilee.

"High profile, but she's going to have to corner him to finish the job," Jubilee agreed. "Ugh. Can you imagine getting him to hold still while he's that fidgety?"

"Not to mention the work ahead of her to make him look less… pale and sickly," Noh said with a little nod. "I don't envy him in the slightest. The whole thing is…." He trailed off, knowing if he finished the thought, it would only get him in trouble.

"Stupid?" Logan offered.

"Cataclysmic," he said in a breath of a whisper.

"Still nicer than the truth of it," Logan replied. "And the truth requires alcohol."

"Yes, well, since I'm no longer on probation, I can drink to that," Noh said with a small attempt at a smile as Logan's tablet chimed again. It was enough to get Noh to momentarily step back. "What _is_ that? Black Bolt's tablet doesn't do that."

"It's just a message," Logan said, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it."

"You can get messages on these things?" Noh looked surprised and then annoyed. "That would have been helpful to know — we could have used that to communicate…"

But Black Bolt was shaking his head, giving Logan a sort of raised-eyebrow look.

"What?" Logan asked, frowning Black Bolt's way.

 _Personal upgrade?_ Black Bolt signed with a raised eyebrow. _A gift?_

 _I have no idea what you're talking about. I thought all of them did that,_ Logan signed back with a frown.

 _No. They don't_. Black Bolt shook his head lightly, though he was smirking Logan's way which had Noh letting out a sigh as he reminded the victor to be still so he could get his hair done.

 _News to me._ Logan said before he let out a breath of his own and looked a bit more pensive.

The tablet chimed again, and Noh glanced toward it, hesitating. "Do you want to read them? I can grab it for you."

"I'm sure it can wait," Logan said, not really wanting to see a string of warnings that he was sure was waiting for him.

"That many messages?" Noh asked, sounding surprised.

"If it's a problem, someone will come get me," Logan answered before he turned toward Black Bolt again. "They really didn't give you that?"

Black Bolt shook his head. _Would have been nice._

Logan scrubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to figure out why in the world they wouldn't set up Black Bolt of all people with something like that. It was such a simple solution — and clearly within their power to do for him.

 _You must have a friend at SHIELD_ , Black Bolt said with a small smirk.

"Yeah, maybe," he answered. "One or two."

The tablet chimed one more time, and Noh and Jubilee glanced at each other before Jubilee broke into a little sly smile and waved Noh toward the tablet. "Just read it to him. You're almost done with Black Bolt anyway," she instructed Noh, who looked a little hesitant to read someone else's private messages even as Jubilee kept waving him on.

"Are you sure that's not… impolite?" he asked, his gaze on Logan.

"She told you to do it — you better do it. Don't want the line to suffer," Logan replied indifferently. "I don't care. Go for it."

Noh raised an eyebrow but crossed to the table to pick up the tablet and look through the messages, most of which were along the same vein: _Don't get too drunk around idiots and dangerous people._ And _Don't make any bad decisions like LAST time you gave me a heart attack,_ and Noh's personal favorite, _If I wake up to the news tomorrow that you had a drinking party with all three royal kids, that's it - you've officially topped out on the stupid meter._

"Who is this person?" Noh asked, unable to hide his amusement.

"SHIELD agent," Logan replied without looking his way.

"A SHIELD agent who worries over you… you must be close," Noh said in as disinterested a tone as he could manage — which was not a very disinterested one at all, really. And he wasn't doing the least bit to hide the smirk.

"Guess she's not a very good agent," Logan deadpanned, sure not to look Noh's way.

"I'd think getting secret messages to you under the very noses of everyone in the Games would say otherwise," Noh said, the smirk widening with every word. "She's very bright, I assume?"

"Do you want her to coach you on how to be sneakier?" Logan asked dryly. "Obviously, she's got some free time if she's messagin' me."

"Well, she must not be attending the wedding. Not many SHIELD personnel will be there, as I understand it — not outside of guards and security."

"Keep talkin', Noh," Logan said with a little smirk. "Makes me wanna sign up."

"I don't believe you qualify," Noh laughed.

"Yeah," he had to agree. "Not too many uses for lumberjacks that don't wanna give up their blue-jeans and flannel shirts."

"And a high-profile victor likely wouldn't help in a secret organization," Noh said, still smiling to himself.

"Nobody cares about that, Noh," Logan said.

Noh laughed lightly — the first lighthearted thing out of him since America's win was announced. "I'm sure you'll find other things to do. Like teaching Jubilee and myself how to continue our line," he had to tease. "You seem to know the rules inside and out."

"If you need lessons in that, I'm not sure you should be _starting_ a line," Logan teased right back. "Otherwise …. Don't worry about the rules."

"Yes, why would I worry about things like that?" Noh said with an airy wave. "Surely there won't be any _consequences_."

"Hopefully not," Logan agreed before he tipped his chin to Noh. "Respond if you want the messages to stop. Tell her ... 'Tea with the twins is at two'."

Noh raised an eyebrow but was too curious _not_ to send the response — and then had to laugh when the quick response was _I hate you sometimes._

Noh glanced up at Logan, but when Logan didn't give him any response, he smirked to himself and decided to answer for Logan — prompted or not. _No, you don't_ , he typed out in response and sent it, setting the tablet aside as he went back to finishing off his work on Black Bolt ahead of the festivities and only halfway watching to see if this mysterious concerned agent was going to respond to _that_.


	38. Speak Now, Please Don't Hold Your Peace

**Notes: *giggles* Yes, good, O. I like that idea wonderfully. Moar Young Avengers. :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 38: Speak Now, Please Don't Hold Your Peace**

* * *

 _July 18_

 _Presidential Palace_

* * *

Security had never been tighter at the palace, and every single person going in had to go through a whole barrage of searches and scans before they were allowed through. Coulson had held his breath watching Logan go through the metal detector, but Fitz's little device sewn into his jacket had done the job to scramble the signal and let the kid through.

As it was, Bobbi looked more nervous watching him than the boy himself, but that faded out very quickly once they were past security and the victors were all herded over to Quill's side of the gathering. Not that any of them wanted to mingle with the royals' side.

The very worst of Capitol supporters were gathered up. It was easily compared to a large school of sharks the way those people were moving among themselves and watching the other wedding guests, especially those on Quill's side. Unlike the quiet, nearly mechanical victors, though, the Capitol side of the wedding seemed to be in full celebration mode, chatting among themselves and practically gloating.

At the front of the large banquet hall, which had been converted for the occasion, it was clear to see that the only thing keeping Quill upright was the hand that Drax had under his elbow. The young man wasn't looking at anything in particular, just staring ahead and clearly willing himself to stay put. MJ had done a good job making him look presentable, but all the styling in the world couldn't hide the look on his face as the last of the guests started to take their seats.

"You know," Coulson said as he sat down in the seat next to Fury, "two quick calls, and we could just…."

"Phil," Fury said in a weary tone that implied that this was not the first time that they'd had this conversation. "You know we can't do that right now."

"I'm just saying — everyone we need and want, all in one place…" Coulson gestured toward Quill. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind a change in plan."

"You know why we can't do that, and you know why we can't discuss it right now either," Fury replied.

"Who's discussing anything? I'm just throwing out hypotheticals while you shoot them down. Not a discussion by any definition I know," Coulson said, clearly annoyed with the situation in general and Fury in particular.

"This will be over quick enough," Fury replied. "And we can get back to _work._ "

"No need to worry about the bridegroom who looks like his life is ending in the meantime, right?" Coulson muttered low out of the corner of his mouth.

Fury let out a sigh and turned toward Coulson with a glare. "What do you think would happen to him if he refused right now? Even if we had a way to stop this — you think they don't have a means to put him in the ground if he tries anything?"

"Look at him, Nick. Look at all of them," Coulson shot back, tipping his head at the victors. "What will be left of your army by the time the fight even starts?" he added that last part low enough that Fury almost didn't catch it.

"I know," Fury said consolingly. "They're all wondering who's next," he agreed. "But it's not going to go on for that long. We need him inside. And I'll move the moon to get him out too."

Coulson nodded quietly at that. He'd already heard Fury say that very thing, but watching Quill right now… he needed the reminder. And he honestly needed to make sure Fury _knew_ just what Coulson thought of the whole fiasco.

But there wasn't much more time for argument after that as everyone in the room stood when the doors opened to admit the president, looking more smug than usual on the heels of the Games _and_ about to send a strong message to all the victors about just who was running every aspect of their lives.

And then, finally, came Gamora, clad in all black and looking pleased with herself as she all but strutted down the aisle.

It was painful to watch, really, as the official ceremony went on. There was very little that was personal about it — and Coulson suspected that was a specific choice made to limit what participation Quill had in the whole thing, since even standing seemed to be an issue. It took the pale young man a couple tries just to get out the "I do," and the official kiss was all Gamora as she more or less pulled him into it.

The Capitol side of the room burst into applause, of course, as the new couple was presented. But from there, if anything, it was slightly easier for Quill, since now it was time for the eating, drinking, partying — the stuff he usually had to do with Gamora anyway. He could just go into automatic pilot for most of it, and watching Quill, it was clear that's exactly what he was doing.

The press was allowed only in certain areas — and those that were there were snapping photographs at a rapid fire pace, since this was the first time anything even close to this had happened. The victors all steered clear of them — not one of them stupid enough to try and go on record when they were all just doing all they could to not look too sick. Even some of the 'worse' victors were shaken by the whole thing, and Jess was sure she'd heard Osborn muttering something about the state of things under his breath while the cameras were far enough away.

As a mark of how dire it really was, not one of them was touching the alcohol either. The stakes were too high that one of them might let their guard down, and something too honest might come out.

Hours passed, and finally, once the hubbub had slowed a bit, Fury found his way over to congratulate the groom. "A private word?" he offered with an entirely serious tone.

Quill glanced over at Gamora, who was wrapped up in conversation with Ronan and Nebula, before he very quickly nodded, though that was all he did — he didn't quite trust himself to speak.

Fury took a moment and made a point to shake Quill's hand very carefully, slipping something to him. "We're going to move as quickly as he can," he said low, with his back to the cameras. "They are identical. But the one I handed you just now..." Quill glanced down and quickly switched his new ring for the one Fury had handed him. "...will cover all your bases. There is a panic button if everything goes irretrievably wrong." The two men met gazes in an instant. "Do. _Not._ Push that damn thing right now."

Quill looked almost disappointed before he managed to ask in a low whisper, "Monitoring?"

"Always," Fury promised. "You'll be the first out when it all goes down."

Quill nodded. "This thing come with a mic?" he asked. "And can I turn it off?"

Fury just nodded quietly. "But I wouldn't if I were you. Built in scrambler to work around everything that even Stark has in development. If something changes, I'll make sure you get the message."

Quill let out a breath. "Just… do me a favor and get rid of the recordings of anything that isn't useful."

"No one wants to hear that," Fury said with a scrunched up face.

"That's why I asked about the off switch. Don't need to unnecessarily scar anyone else," Quill said with the ghost of his usual self in an almost-smile.

"First out," Fury replied. "Team is _already_ raring to go."

"Sure I can't just push the button now?"

Fury sighed. "If she makes a move to kill you, yes. Anything short of that? No."

"With all due respect sir, hurry up."

Fury just smirked at him as the groom was pulled back to his new wife, and the director started to head toward the exit. The festivities were almost over, and it would be time for him to get back to work very soon.

As he understood it, Essex had already been working nearly around the clock to get their first candidates prepped and ready to start the final procedures, and he had to get the reports on if they had enough vibranium to do the job. If there wasn't — then there needed to be a very good, very fast mission to Eleven to get more.

In addition, he had to get his other operatives squared away. Bobbi was going to need to have a long talk with him before she went back to work, and the others involved in Tahiti had some debriefing to do before they were allowed near the kids again. He also wanted to have a word with Logan, but for the time being, the kid was untouchable with the Royals watching him. He'd already had to go a round with Ogun about not doing any training until things were settled, and he hoped that the kid hadn't lost what he'd learned, or the old man was going to beat the crap out of him.

Fury scrubbed a hand over his face as he reminded himself of what he knew — that his plans were coming into place, even if the players weren't necessarily happy about it.

* * *

 _July 20_

 _Tahiti Medical Wing_

* * *

The Tahiti doctors had been working on bringing back some of the tributes since the day they were killed, so for Jessica Jones, it had been almost two weeks' worth of work — most of it prep — before she was the first to come back from this year's Games.

There were a lot of stab wounds this year — stab wounds and blood loss seemed to be the main causes of death, in any case. Charles had heard Hank mention as much while he looked over the preliminary notes. This year would be fairly repetitive for the doctors — except for the tricky cases where venom and poison was involved. Essex had already expressed his confidence that the toxins wouldn't affect the process, though even he had to admit that there was a large enough margin of error that there was room for concern.

Charles considered the many children that were on the list for this year's showing. It was far more than usual — and he had to admit that he was concerned about the expedited process. He knew it was important to get all of the operatives up and at least started on their training before the revolution began, but since Peter Quill's wedding, it seemed everything was being rushed.

Not that Charles couldn't understand the need for expediency. He just hoped that the kids' mental well-being wasn't ignored in the meantime.

He only had a short time to spend in the Tahiti Wing; Miss Chavez was expected to make her return the following morning, and he would be expected to join the rest of the victors for her interview and the days' worth of parties afterward. He was just glad that the timing worked out that he could be present for Jessica's awakening.

She didn't wake up peaceably, either. Instead, the young woman in the medical room seemed to panic, her heart rate high before she'd even fully come out of her sedation — and Charles quickly slipped into the room to make sure she couldn't work herself up into a frenzy too quickly.

"Please, Miss Jones, calm down," he said in his gentlest tone. "You will come out of the sedation more easily if you relax."

Jessica didn't relax at that at all, though. Instead, she seemed to panic more, until Charles took a different approach.

"If you cannot relax, you will have to be restrained before you can hurt yourself," he said. His tone wasn't sharp, but factual. He had been through this enough times with enough children that he knew not all of them reacted well to waking up — though he had to admit that he hadn't expected Jessica to be one that would need to be restrained. Not with everything he had read in her profile.

Still, it worked. Jessica almost immediately stilled, and while her heart rate was still high, she was no longer trying to get up before her muscles were ready for it — which was good. Charles had been half worried she would fling herself off her bed and hurt herself.

"Now then," he said as the young woman finally focused on him. "I'm sure you're frightened, Miss Jones, but believe it or not, you're completely safe here. No one is going to hurt you here."

"Well, that's just a lie," she spat out his way with as much energy as she could so soon after waking up.

"I assure you, I'm not lying to you," Charles told her earnestly, though Jessica just looked him up and down and clearly dismissed him with only her gaze.

"So, what's this then?" she asked at last. "Or do I even want to know?"

"This," Charles said, gesturing around the room, "is a hidden facility, underneath SHIELD, that very few people know about."

"That just screams warm and fuzzy," Jessica drawled out in a sarcastic tone.

"We're trying to form a revolution against the Capitol. Unfortunately, not every part of revolution is warm and fuzzy," Charles told her outright.

"Or believable. What's really going on here?" She asked, her eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't waste your time or mine by lying to you, Miss Jones," Charles told her. "I meant what I said — we're bringing tributes back from the Games, and if you want to help us dismantle the system that put you in that arena, you're welcome to help."

She watched him carefully, clearly not trusting much of anything he was saying. "Do I have a choice in the matter? No offense, but I'd like to do a little of my own research before signing up."

"The choice is entirely yours," Charles assured her. "And if you choose not to help, we will help you to find a new life." He looked apologetic for a moment. "The only thing we _can't_ do for you is restore you to your old one. You _did_ die, after all, I'm afraid."

"But … it would be a life that you people ... whoever you are … choose for me," Jessica said slowly, that same look of distrust painted over her features. "So you can watch me and make sure I'm staying in line, right?"

"You can choose your own path; we'll just help you by disguising you, giving you the tools you need so that the Capitol won't find you." Charles watched her for a moment. "Of course, that's if you decide not to fight with us, though I sincerely hope you will."

"I'll think about it," she said, looking down her nose at him.

"While you're deciding," he said, glancing toward the mirror, "perhaps you'd like to see more of this facility? There's no rush to leave just yet, and you can make your decision when you're ready — and well-informed, I'd hope."

"Can I have computer access?" she asked with a frown. "I'd like to check my horoscope."

"We do have some access and computer classes, but for the secrecy of all of the others here, you won't be able to have access to anything sensitive."

"I'm sure," she said with a totally unamused expression. "So, what, am I supposed to climb up and you show me around?"

Charles smirked the slightest bit. "Actually, there's a far more capable tour guide who can show you the ins and outs of the program better than I can. He's been part of it for three years himself." He glanced once more toward the mirror, and this time, Luke poked his head in, taking the cue from Charles.

Jessica stopped just short of doing a double take before she looked him up and down slowly. "Alright. I guess I can try the upgrade."


	39. You Did Try

**Chapter 39: You Did Try**

* * *

 _July 21_

 _Recovery Room_

* * *

America hadn't come out of her Games nearly as bad off as Logan had been, though the medics in charge of patching up the victors had made it a point to pump her full of drugs until she was ready to get back out in the world. Not because she was hurting, necessarily, but because she kept trying to take a swing at the medics. Even now, when they were supposed to be discharging her, she kept glaring at them, half daring them to try anything as the IVs finally came out.

And in rushed the little team for Twelve — Noh, Ian, and Black Bolt. All ready to prep her for re-entering the world and having to sit down with Tivan again.

"Congratulations," Ian said with a warm, reassuring smile, though neither of the other two looked like their smiles were nearly as warm. Probably because they weren't quite as dense as Ian was.

"Thanks," America said dryly, looking past her escort to Noh. "Where's your line partner? Isn't she invited to this party?" She gestured at the hospital gown she was still wearing. "Or did you think she might ditch you for me if you brought her to see me in all this glory?"

Noh shook his head at her. "She's with Logan prepping him for the cameras — and I have to do the same for you, but I promise not to touch your hair," he said with the slightest of smiles.

"So he can be taught," America muttered to herself.

"Believe it or not, I'd like you to be as comfortable as possible when it comes to this sort of thing," Noh said before his smile slipped the slightest bit, and he added, "After all, we'll be doing this for some time."

She raised an eyebrow his way. "Sounds like you're stuck with me."

"Oh, I don't mean to make it sound terrible," he assured her quickly. "I don't actually mind working with you in the least."

"Could've gotten worse, huh?" she agreed, though when Ian tried to put a hand on her shoulder to steer her out of the room, she pulled away from him hard and glared at him. "No touching."

"Right." Ian stared at her for a moment. "Well, you _do_ have to come with us to the next room—"

"Have to?"

"America, really, this will be much simpler if you just let us do our jobs and get you through this interview," Noh said with a sigh of longsuffering.

"Or," she said, "you could just give me some shorts and a hoodie. I say screw Tivan, and we all go home."

"That's just not going to happen, and I think you know it," Noh told her.

"Come on. I don't want to do it — I know Tivan doesn't want to interview _me_ for his farewell bruhaha. And you have your line to get back to…"

"America," Noh said, his tone half-pleading. "Just… just at least let us do a little prep work. Get rid of the fresh-from-the-hospital look."

"It's not a good look? I think I rock it."

"America."

" _Fine_." She shook her head at him. "I will sit. In the chair."

Ian looked relieved to hear it as he stepped forward. "And we'll get you looking—"

America shot Ian a glare. "I will sit in the chair," she said.

By that time, Noh had more or less gotten everything prepped, and she looked over the red and white stars in the dress that was short enough to meet her approval — even if it wasn't shorts and a sweatshirt like she wanted. It was easy to change into out of her hospital gown, too, which she appreciated. But wearing the dress and letting them primp and prime her was something else entirely.

She was entirely ready to fight them every step of the way, too, until Black Bolt put a hand on either of her shoulders and physically _put_ her in the chair. She was so surprised by the move from the usually calm victor that it worked, and she sat down for Noh to start his work — as Black Bolt shoved a note into her hands.

 _Play along,_ the note read in Black Bolt's perfect script. _Don't make yourself a target just to get cheap shots in, because they won't take it out on you. You're too high profile. They will find a way to take it out on your friends, the ones in the family interviews._

America glanced up at her mentor, who gave her such a serious look that she very clearly couldn't argue that point, especially considering the fact that she'd busted herself out to the whole country that she cared about her idiots back home. And this was the Capitol, the same people who had absolutely no problems torturing Billy until he died.

So she scowled all the way through Noh's prep, methodically tearing Black Bolt's note to shreds in her lap until he was done.

Noh had gone light on touching her up, and in all, she actually had to admit that the whole ensemble wasn't too shabby, even if it was a bit shimmery in places for her tastes. It looked nice when the stars in her dress shimmered in the light, but it wasn't really her style.

"Think they'll play Billy's death?" she asked at last, her tone for the first time lacking any trace of confrontation.

"Not all of it," Ian said hesitatingly.

"But enough," America finished for him, nodding to herself. "Got it."

"They'll want to ask about the rest of them too," Noh warned her.

"Yeah, I know. I just…" She let out her breath and ran a hand through her hair. "Just hoping they don't play the whole thing. I don't really… know how long it took," she admitted.

"Don't hit anyone in public," Noh told her, trying for a little smirk. "I've learned that the hard way. I'll tell you that story when you get back, shall I?"

America stopped and looked him over appraisingly for a moment before she had to chuckle and nod. "Yeah, sounds like you'll have to," she agreed. She smoothed the dress down and admired her reflection one last time before she nodded. "Alright. Let's get this circus started. Sooner we can get it rolling, the sooner I can get home and go back to doing something that actually matters."

"No arguments there," Ian said, still looking a little nervous — but that was apparently a constant for the fidgety escort.

When they headed down to the staging area, America was surprised at how much it felt just like before the Games — and how much it didn't at the same time. It was the same place backstage, but sans twenty-three tributes and their mentors hissing last-minute instructions. It gave the whole place a sort of empty feeling, especially because the production crew hadn't even removed all the chairs that the kids had been sitting in before their pre-Games interviews.

America sat in that place with the ghosts of all the kids that had died and tried her best to look like it didn't bother her as she listened to the sound of the Capitolites waiting for her.

It was obvious the moment Tivan stepped out to receive the adulation of the crowd, his arms outstretched as if he could physically take it all in. The roaring crowd cheered the victors as they came in, and then the Twelve team loudest of all, though America almost smirked when she saw on the feed backstage that not a one of the men on her team looked comfortable with the cheering.

And then, last of all, the newest victor made her debut, and America was surprised at how disorienting it was. Blinding camera flashes and deafening screams all around her — it was hard to know which way was up for a good long moment.

She remembered Black Bolt's warning to play along, so she _didn't_ flip off the crowd the way she wanted to — though she felt like that would have been just retribution for screwing with her ability to know which way to walk until her eyes and ears adjusted to it all. But she wasn't going to be meek about it, either, and she pulled her sleeves a little lower and her dress a little higher before she sat down across from Tivan, the way most people would pull on battle armor. It was all she had on hand — for the moment.

"Welcome, Welcome, Ms. America Chavez," Tivan said, though he was talking more to the crowd than to her. The crowd screamed out its excitement all over again, and he grinned his too-white grin. "What a year — unlike anything we've seen so far. But then, that's what made it a Quarter Quell. Setting up for the years to come, no doubt."

Almost without thinking about it, America nodded. "Yeah, pretty strong finale for you too, huh?"

He had a look of clear and total loathing for a moment, though the faux smile never slipped as he chuckled as if it was a terrific joke. "Oh, my dear _girl,_ this is not about me in the least. This is your show, your accomplishments … your crushing near misses." The smile morphed into the most comically false look of sympathy that America could have imagined as he continued.

"You … were such a wonderful friend to Mr. Kaplan," he said, but quickly added to his statement. "And so many others. So, so many in the field hid under your protection … though none of them for very long."

"I don't know that three kids is 'so many,' but I guess when you don't have any friends yourself, even one is a lot," she said with a perfectly straight face. "It's alright; that's what retirement homes are for."

"Just three?" he said, frowning a bit. "So you weren't bothered as much as it seemed by Miss Khan?"

"I did a crap job protecting her," America said with a frown that matched his, but with more sincerity. "If you're talking about kids I actually _helped_ , it was just three. Two, really. Kitty didn't need my protecting; she could handle herself."

"But you still tried," he said.

"Yeah," she said with a small shrug.

He nodded his head. "Then let's begin, shall we?" With a grand, sweeping gesture, the colors on the stage shifted, and the replay began starting with the Reaping — though it cut out the big kiss between Billy and Teddy that everyone had been talking about for the past two weeks. It wasn't her compelling story after all — strictly speaking. In fact, he blew over most of anything that even showed Billy if it wasn't entirely necessary.

America had to frown at that. Without Billy, it just looked like she had volunteered from her own confidence, her own determination. Which made her look _stupid_ , first of all, but it totally blew off Billy's idiotic bravery. "Didn't volunteer until Billy stuck his neck on the line for his boyfriend," she said, loud enough to be heard over the footage. "It was his show, not mine."

Tivan just gave her a look of sympathy that rang with so much falseness that she could only glare at him. "Yes, you were determined to build him up. I understand you even asked to be outfitted so as not to outshine him. Such a _selfless_ decision." He played a clip of the parade, the smile widening. "Of course, you couldn't help but outshine him all the same. It's alright. You made an _effort_ , at least. You can't succeed every time."

The footage shifted, and the bloodbath began to play. She saw Billy running stupidly toward the Tesseract, and Tivan leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "He did make it difficult for you, didn't he? Only seconds into the Games, and your first kill was in his defense. Did it matter to you in the slightest that his sister was only a few feet away directing Billy to safety while you beat Brian Braddock to death?"

America glanced up at the screen in time to see Betsy directing Billy away from _her_. Clearly, Betsy thought America was the threat to be avoided. And she certainly looked it, the way she was laying into Brian with everything she had.

"Only thing that mattered was getting Billy out of there," she said, though she'd lost a bit of her heat. Of course, it didn't take any time at all to get it back when she saw that Tivan was smirking to himself at her less aggressive tone. "What, you think I should have killed her too?" she bit out his way.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "Should you have?"

"Doesn't matter. She didn't threaten Billy; she wasn't my problem," America decided, trying to wave the whole thing off as she saw the rest of the scene play out — though she was surprised when one of the other Careers finished Brian off early.

"It certainly wasn't merciful, what you did to anyone who threatened your allies," Tivan said, one eyebrow raised as he considered the girl in front of him, and the scene behind him changed to show her and Billy fighting Yuriko. "Though the danger always seemed to get to them before you could quite… _scare_ it off," he added as the screen showed Yuriko leaving Billy, edited so that it looked like she had just turned tail instead of turning to fight with Bucky.

"Did a little more than scare things off," she muttered, though the words didn't mean much when the footage showed her fretting over Billy, the worry obvious in her expression as the leak of poison into his system seemed to cripple them both.

"Of course you did," Tivan said soothingly. "Though you were quick enough to use others when they came by to help you take care of Mr. Kaplan. Oh, I'm sorry. You took them under your protection," he corrected himself with not a hint of apology in his tone.

The footage showed Kitty arriving close to their camp, but it also showed what America hadn't realized — how tired and alone she had been when she found the two kids from Twelve. Tivan played a side-by-side of Kitty hopelessly tending to a dying Alex and America tending to Billy as he tutted in sympathy. "Of course, you couldn't possibly have known you were just reopening wounds taking her in. She did hide it well, didn't she?"

Before America could fully digest that, though, Tivan had moved on, this time to show Miles miserable in his little tarp shelter in the rain until Kitty found him. "And the alliance was complete," Tivan said. "With Twelve, Nine, and a Spider-Man involved, you know, some were calling it the second Team Awesome."

"No way," America cut in sharply. "No. That was Kate's. Kate's and Logan's — and _their_ team."

"It certainly didn't have quite the same… oh, it just lacked that extra _something_ , don't you think?" Tivan asked, eyes sparkling. "There something that kept last year's team glued together, while yours simply fell apart the moment it was formed. Starting, of course, with your dear young friend."

Even though America knew it was coming, she couldn't help but wince the moment they started to play Billy's tortured screams.

Tivan looked delighted when he saw the grip she'd taken on her seat, white-knuckled as she tried not to hit him or bolt. "It was a surprise to all of us, you know. Completely inspired. Instead of simply killing off a tribute when you failed to kill anyone new — the intent was to draw in others to finish the job. So much more interesting than a simple, sudden death by poison, don't you think?"

"Why don't we test it out on—"

"But no one came for little Billy, did they?" Tivan continued, talking right over her. "I know you did what you could for him, my _dear_ girl, but all that time later, he died just the same. Wouldn't it have been kinder to put him out of his misery? Didn't you consider that?"

She didn't have a good answer except to glare at him. Of _course_ she'd considered it, but that would have been giving up on him. What would he know about that, anyway?

"Wouldn't that have been more humane than how it did finally end?"

She tried to find a witty retort, but the background had switched to the sudden, heartbreaking silence at the very moment they killed Billy, and just like it did when it happened, it took her breath right from her.

"You really didn't waste any time replacing him after that, did you?" Tivan continued on before she could get her feet back underneath her. "And every time you did…" On cue, the footage played the moment Bucky ran Kitty through with his stolen sword. "It was like a death sentence for those little ones you decided to shield."

"You don't—"

But before America could tell Tivan off for not knowing what he was talking about, the footage moved on, and so did he. "And when it was just you and young Miles Morales, not even battling two of his little 'clones' while he faced just the one… not even that was enough." He looked sympathetic. "You did try, my dear."

"Kid was doing _fine_ until those things showed up."

"Oh, yes. He was quite good at running from fights and hiding behind his allies," Tivan agreed. "It's just a shame his first real fight ended that way — without his protector…" He made a dismissive wave that had America narrowing her eyes as they moved on to the final fight.

They showed Kamala's death first, of course — though it was played from her point of view. They showed the moment America saw Six's girl die as she crossed the ridge to investigate the noise of the falling boulder — only to find that the last two decent people in the arena were gone.

Tivan let the whole fight between America and Yuriko play uninterrupted after that — the two hadn't traded much in the way of words, and it was a dirty fight that had the whole audience captivated anyway.

"It's fitting that our first Quarter Quell victor so embodies the spirit of the _Avenger_ Games," Tivan said delightedly. "You tried so hard to protect them, but failing that, at least you could avenge _one_ death, anyway — even if it was just little Kamala."

America was clearly livid as Tivan sat there smirking. "Go to hell, Tivan," she ground out, and he simply laughed, delighted with himself for getting such a rise out of her.

"It's alright, dear girl — you _won_." He shot her a smile that was all teeth as he stood to address the crowd, swinging his arms out again as anything she might have countered him with was completely drowned out by the roar of all the people screaming. Tivan only just made himself heard as he declared her the winner of the Games — though he didn't try to shake her hand or approach her in the least before he waved her off the stage. Which was a shame, really, because she was itching to have an excuse to 'accidentally' break something.

She didn't have much time to really recover as she was rushed from there to pictures with the rest of the victors, and despite the fact that everyone was telling her to smile, all she wanted to do was hit something. The best she could do was make sure she _wasn't_ giving anyone nearby a murderous glare, though Sam Wilson and Black Bolt on either side of her were grinning enough to make up for her in spades — which was strange enough, since Black Bolt wasn't usually the 'big smile' kind of person.

She remembered the note her mentor had given her before this whole thing started and glanced over at him and his forced smile. He was protecting her. So was Sam, clearly. And all at once, America couldn't stop the rising anger as she closed her eyes to keep from letting it show on her face.

She didn't want to be protected. She wanted to tear down the Capitol for every offense it had committed. She wanted to kill Thanos when he presented her with her crown. She wanted to tear it all to the ground.

But then Black Bolt put a silent hand on her shoulder, and she thought of Teddy back home. Of Nate and Eli.

She took a deep breath. She could do this. Even if it killed her.


	40. We're Not Waiting

**Chapter 40: We're Not Waiting**

* * *

 _July 22_

 _Capitol After-Party_

* * *

The parties in the days after the Games were always long and went well into the night, though of course, America was usually one of the first to leave. She wasn't required to stay for anything beyond the public parties — not yet. That would come during the victory tour, though she didn't know that yet.

She was in high demand all the same, as everyone wanted to dance with her. And to her credit, when the dance partners were good, she honestly did like to dance. In fact, her favorite partner so far was Jessica Drew, who could be coaxed into letting loose easily enough.

Of course, that was with fast, upbeat songs. Anything slow, and America just wasn't interested unless it was someone gorgeous _and_ someone she didn't suspect of being too deeply entrenched in the Capitol or the Games. Which meant she didn't want to slow dance with anyone, really.

But America's new favorite dancing partner had already explained how it was going to go: "You play along, you dance, and you smile, so when you get home, your friends and family are safe and whole and unharassed."

America didn't know why anyone _cared_ who she danced with or if she smiled, but the threat hung heavily enough over her head. These were the same people who tortured Billy to death, who had let Creed threaten Kate in last year's Games — no matter what the angle was on the 'official' story, America knew a threat when she saw one. She wouldn't put it past them to follow through and just finish off the rest of her team. Not like there were many people left in Twelve who would care. Billy's foster parents, maybe. They liked Teddy, treated him like a son. But that was about it.

Still, she tried to sit out most of the slow dances where she could — by the simple act of dancing hard enough during the faster ones that she could be entirely honest when she said she needed a breather.

And it wasn't lost on her that her fellow victors tried to find a way to join her whenever she was open. There were a couple sweethearts, like Sam and Rhodey, who seemed to genuinely want to know she was okay. Sam in particular had privately thanked her for trying to protect Miles, though America wasn't sure what to do with that.

Then there were people like Sarkissian, who had approached America during the first night's party, gave her a clear up and down, and complimented her dress. Or Stane, who had gotten through all of maybe half a sentence worth of introduction before America had decided she was _done_ with that creep and cut out with not even a pretended apology.

In fact, America was sure that the only victor she hadn't seen was Peter Quill, which was a shame, since she'd liked him when he came to the rooftop before the Games. But she understood why he'd been MIA for the most part.

He did, finally, make an appearance during that night's party, though. He arrived on the arm of the princess he'd married, as expected, though the change in the bright and joking young man she'd met on the rooftop was almost depressingly stark.

He was dressed to match Gamora's usual black sheen, the sharp black tuxedo perfectly fitted and absolutely not his style. He wasn't even pretending to smile, either, sticking by Gamora and more or less going through the motions of the party, though when Gamora left to talk business with some people, the other victors could see the visibly relaxed shoulders as he glanced around, grabbed a drink, and made his way over to the table of victors that included Jess and the usual crowd.

The gathered victors all watched him as he took a seat, though no one really wanted to address the elephant in the room, and it was unnaturally quiet as they all poured drinks for those that didn't have one. But when it was clear that the usual suspects were in protect and cushion mode while dealing with Quill, Logan couldn't take it anymore.

"So how is the palace treating you, Mr. Gamora?" Logan asked with a perfectly straight face just before he tipped his glass of whiskey back.

Quill's head popped up, and he looked over at Logan like he could hardly believe what he'd heard before he simply started to shake his head, still with that same expression. "Oh. Just great."

"You pick up whatever kind of virus it is that turns you green yet, or does that take a little longer to set in?"

The other victors at the table were giving Logan disbelieving stares, though not one of them asked him to shut up when Quill clearly wasn't going to. In fact, Quill was smirking.

"No, lucky me that's genetic," he said.

"I'd still be concerned it might _rub off_ ," Logan said evenly.

"Yes, Logan. That, of all things, is my number one concern right now. The green," he said, though the smirk was still widening.

"Might do you good," America chimed in, grinning over at Logan. "I thought everyone looked good in basic black, but... " She waved her hand at Quill. "You need more color."

With that, Logan turned her way and poured her a drink. "Least it's not blue, right?" he said.

"Not blue _I_ gotta worry about," Quill said, watching Logan and America for a moment before he shook his head. "What about you — you found any good protection from blue?"

"Yeah, be an insufferable, unmoveable ass. Seemed to work pretty good last time," Logan said.

Quill smirked and took a long drink. "Yeah, seemed to," he had to agree.

"So how long have you got before you shock collar tells you that you gotta head back?" Logan asked before he poured Quill another drink.

"I'm sure you'll know before me. Not like she's hard to spot when she comes by," Quill pointed out. "But it's still early days — you know the royals don't stay for the full party until the last night."

"Yeah, when your favorite new relative comes out. Got the memo last year," Logan replied with a little smirk.

Quill almost had a grin on at that as he leaned forward. "You know, comparatively, of the in-laws… that's accurate."

Logan mirrored him with a smirk. "Only because he doesn't want a damn thing to do with you and he probably hasn't said more than two words to you at once."

"That's why he's my favorite. I ask so little," Quill replied.

Logan lifted his glass Quill's way as he leaned back in his chair. "Then I wish you the best in getting all four of them to drop dead."

"Preferably all at the same time," America chimed in, clearly enjoying the show as Jess gave Logan a look as if to blame him for already corrupting the new victor to his way of dealing with things. "What?" America shrugged when she caught the look. "No use wishing for it if it's not a _useful_ wish."

"That's the most useful thing you can wish for?" Rhodey asked.

"He started it — I'm just helping him specify," America said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Logan. "Now, me, I'd wish for someone with long legs and no ties to the Capitol right about now, but that's not real useful to anyone but me."

"I'm good without all that noise," Logan said with a little smirk her way.

"Wasn't wishing for you anyway," she laughed.

"I just meant I've got my whiskey. That's all I'm after right now. The long legs are trouble."

"We'll find you someone shorter so you don't have to reach to kiss them," she promised. "You know. Later on, after the whiskey."

"Nah, I'll just get a box if she's that tall."

America broke into a huge grin at that. "I'd pay to see that. You carrying around a box… just drop it in front of a pretty girl and climb on up… She's wearing heels of course…"

"I ain't carrying it around, Jeez. Come on," Logan said with a little laugh.

"It's not as funny if you don't carry it around."

"Yeah, not worried about entertaining anyone," Logan said. "That ain't my thing."

"No, but the mental image is nice anyway," America said with a smirk. "Don't waste a good show like that on these idiots."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to put on a show," Logan promised. He checked the clock on the wall and shook his head. "When can we leave?"

"Tired already?" America teased him. "You need a save, we can always say our stylists needed dummies to wear the clothes on their 'line.' People will get suspicious if there's no clothes after a while, you know."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I don't know that I wanna wear the crap they're putting in their _line_."

"Too much glitter," America agreed, though she was half-serious as she plucked at the spangled dress she was wearing.

"You get glitter; I get yellow," Logan pointed out.

"And together, it would be yellow glitter?" America shook her head. "You know, suddenly staying here sounds good. Who can I harass that would get their panties in a wad if I asked them to dance?"

"I'm good with yellow," he said with a shrug as he looked around the room. "But if you want to irritate someone … and you like long legs, Groot isn't busy."

"That actually sounds like fun," America smirked his way as she pushed back from the table. "Not my type, but hey. I've never seen him get riled. I'll play."

"Just don't expect him to say much," Quill advised. "Not much of a conversationalist."

"It's just dancing," America said. "Find the right song, and you don't need a conversation." She grinned horribly his way. "You're not my type either, but if you need help figuring it out, I'll give you a lesson or two."

"I may take you up on that," he replied with a little smile.

"Next dance," America promised, leveling her finger at Quill before she all but strutted off to go find Groot and force him onto the dance floor with her, like it or not.

The group of victors watched her go for a moment, glad that she at least was taking the parties in stride so far, before Quill cleared his throat and looked a little more serious. "So, ah." He paused and looked around the group. "Yeah, pretty much everyone here — don't go anywhere. The Mrs. wants a word," he said. "With all of you."

The group as a whole shared a few confused glances between themselves. "All at once?" Sam asked. "Why?"

"After-party plans," Quill admitted, looking more and more like he had when he'd first come in as he thought about it. "Some rich guy throwing a large, private party… that's all I've got for you. I'd tell you more if I knew it."

"That doesn't sound very good at all," Jessica said quietly.

"Way she was preening? It won't be," Quill said, and he looked honestly apologetic and uncomfortable to be the one to bring it to them.

"Hey," Logan said, trying to get Quill to lighten up. "Lil' bit better than delivering a message for your brother-in-law."

"Yeah, that's one family bonding ritual I'm going to put off as _long_ as possible," Quill agreed fervently.

They didn't have long to wait, either. Gamora found her way to them soon enough, with Bobbi trailing behind her looking a little off-set by the fact that there was a gathered group. Gamora took a second to do what looked like a quick head count and then nodded to herself with a small smirk. "There are three cars outside — I'm sure you can divide the rides among yourselves. The drivers know where you're going; you leave in five minutes," Gamora told them even as she trailed her fingers over Quill's shoulders. "Come now, Peter, you haven't danced with me yet tonight," she added, turning her attention from the others as she pulled him to his feet, and he shot the lot of them an apologetic look before they were off.

As soon as they were gone, Logan looked toward Jess. "What fresh hell is this?"

Jess shook her head, her hands up in front of herself. "Don't ask me. This isn't… normal."

"So you haven't had to deal with this before?" Logan asked.

The group of them exchanged glances, but when all of them shook their heads, it was clear that not one of them had been prepared for… whatever this was.

"We're on a timer, guys," Sam said quietly. "And probably better if we're out before America notices us."

"Yeah, I'm not going to be the one to explain where we're headed if she does," Rhodey agreed. He and Sam were the first to stand, though when Logan didn't move, both of them paused.

"Logan," Sam prompted.

"Yeah," he said in a near growl. "I know." He got to his feet, and the little group headed out together with a glance toward America, who had managed to get a smile out of Groot as she pulled him into a more high-energy dance than any of them had ever seen him do.

Groot actually wasn't too hard to deal with, she'd found — he just needed a little prompting, and he needed someone who wasn't an idiot to deal with. She'd managed a real smile, not a small one, either, when she glanced over her shoulder to see if the other victors had seen her success… and had to frown when she saw that they were all leaving together.

"What, did I not rate a ticket to the cool kids' party?" she asked, and though she wasn't expecting an answer, Groot did give her a little shrug.

* * *

 _July 23_

 _Triskellion: Fury's Office_

* * *

With the Quarter Quell out of the way, and the last of the parties wrapping up the next night, it was time to move on to other things. More _important_ things.

Which was why Fury's office was currently occupied by not only Maria Hill but Phil Coulson and Melinda May, as all three of them would need to sign off on the final plans for the revolution that they'd been painstakingly preparing for over _years_ of work.

"We're ready to move — or we will be by the time the victory tour comes around," Fury announced, and he did allow a moment for the others in the room to sit on that statement for a while. Hill had already known, simply by virtue of knowing how much prep work had been finished, that they were ready to move, but Coulson was the one to look the most outright pleased. Which was saying something, considering the man's poker face.

"When, exactly?" Coulson asked outright. He'd been the one to push Fury hardest for a sooner date, considering how close he was to the Tahiti kids.

"The last night of the tour, when everyone's all in one place," Fury said. "I'll need your teams, all of them, to-"

"The _last_ night?" Coulson interrupted him, and it was a mark of how floored Coulson was that he hadn't waited for Fury to even try to explain his decision-making process.

"That's what I said," Fury replied. "Now, your teams will need to be in position no less than thirty minutes prior to the start of the party, but no more than an hour; our intel in the Capitol says the security there will be-"

"I'm sorry, sir," Coulson cut in again. He hadn't changed his expression in the least, but seeing as Phil Coulson never interrupted Fury in front of other people — and certainly not _twice_ — he was clearly not going to let it drop. "We can do it the first night. There's no reason to wait."

"I need the extra time to be sure that _all_ of our forces are in place and ready to go," Fury said. "Last. night."

"If your forces need the extra time, you must not be training them well enough," May said with a smirk.

"Don't be glib, Melinda," Fury replied dryly. "It's a matter of staging, and you know it. This is a massive effort, and we can't be too obvious about what we're doing."

"So the staging we just did during the parade…" Hill raised an eyebrow.

"Was excellent practice," Fury said. "But we have other forces that need to move too. Larger groups to handle the Nova Corps. Your teams can't be everywhere at once."

"That's what these next few months will be focused on. You don't need the extra _days_ of tying up SHIELD leadership with parties and kowtowing to the royals any longer than we have to," Coulson argued. "If you need some extra time in the Capitol, I can understand one day, but waiting until the _end_?"

"You know that as soon as we attack, we'll have to pull all of our forces and move to the secondary location," Fury said. "We need all the time we can get."

"And we need _all_ our forces at their peak. Three days in the Capitol with all twenty-five of our victors?" Hill asked pointedly. "Even if we warn them ahead of time not to get too drunk, and you know some of them would without the warning, you know that won't be the only issue."

"I'm not going to argue every point," Fury said, his voice raising a bit. "This is the plan. This is how it's going to go. The victors can handle it."

The other three in the room shared glances and frowns, though Hill looked more resigned than anything else. "Alright. Thirty minutes before the party starts."

* * *

After the night Logan had put up with, he was livid. The parties were always something to be avoided in the Capitol for him, but … this was the first time that he'd been to one of the after parties with _other victors_.

It was usually a one-on-one arrangement. Or in some of the worst cases, a little more than that … But this was every young victor short of the newest winner, and the newly married, in one place — and it was … a nightmare.

There were no rules, and frankly … he'd thought that he had been handling the whole arrangement pretty badly until he watched from across the room as Jessica Drew simply seemed to have an out-of-body experience dealing with a very handsy Capitolite. She didn't even try to push the guy away or slow him down when he got aggressive with her, and he was pissed off on her behalf — until he realized that all of the others were reacting similarly and passively letting the partygoers handle them as they pleased.

He was left wondering for a split second as he pushed a woman's hand back out of the no fly zone if he was doing a lot better than he'd given himself credit for. It made sense in retrospect — the lack of detail that Jessica had given him on what was expected of him in those situations with the people that first Selene, and then the princesses had sent them to. It was because Jessica had mentally checked out herself. As was likely the case with the others, if their behavior was anything to go by.

They were compliant. With whatever they were told to do. And all at once, he was … it was all he could do to follow through with that ridiculous party of grabby people, keeping in mind the whole time who he was trying to keep safe. But come dawn, when they could finally leave …

He didn't even consider going to his room in Seven's suite. Or the group meeting point in Eight where the stylists were sure to be gathered. Not when he was that mad. . So, still in his suit from the night before and smelling like six kinds of perfume and a little bit of spilled booze, he stormed into the Triskellion intent on tearing into Fury — and to hell with whoever was there when he found him. He'd officially _had it._

He made his way to Fury's office, where the secretary informed him that he was in a meeting, but Logan flat ignored her and simply went in anyhow, kicking the door hard enough that it rebounded off of the wall.

Coulson, May, and Hill looked to be deep in discussion about something or other right up until Logan slammed the door after he came in.

"When is this thing happening?" Logan demanded, nearly shaking in rage.

"Are you still drunk?" Fury countered, both hands flat on the small conference table as he got to his feet. "Because you would have to be drunk to come storming into my office like this in last night's clothes."

Logan's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he stalked forward to put his hands on Fury's table across from him and level with him eye to eye. " _When_."

The two of them glared at each other, and it was clear Logan wasn't going to leave until he got a straight answer. "That," the director said with a sigh, though his gaze lost none of its fire, "was what we were discussing."

"Then you should be able to answer me easy enough," Logan growled out through gritted teeth.

"We have to wait until the victory tour is all but over. We need everyone to be in the Capitol, and that's the next time that happens," Fury said.

Logan tipped his head the tiniest bit. "Yeah. But _when_."

"You'll know when we get closer."

"Like hell. I wanna know now," Logan snarled back, and the two of them both looked livid with each other as the stare down started in earnest. Fury had just opened his mouth to say something when someone beat him to it.

"Last day of the victory tour," Coulson said from his seat off of Fury's left. Logan turned his head to focus on him as he continued. "Before Miss Chavez heads off for the night, and before Thanos can finish his 'victory' gloat."

For a moment, Logan simply stared at him, unblinking in what had to be disbelief. " _No_."

"Excuse me?" Fury said in a supremely insulted tone.

"No," Logan asserted, turning his attention back to the man nearest him. " _First_ night, before Miss Chavez has to get _dragged off,_ or I'll start it myself."

"We'll need until then to get the backup—"

"If you can have the backup for the third night, you can have it for the first. You have a few _months_. Make it happen," Logan shot right back at Fury, pointing one finger in his face. " _First night_. Or I'm out." Fury faltered for an instant as Logan continued. "And I swear to God, Nick, the next time I'm in the palace, I'm going to start killing royals in your name."

The others in the room watched the showdown as the two of them faced off. "You don't understand all of—"

"I understand more than you think," Logan snapped. "Going the third night isn't about anything necessary for your revolution — it's to make sure you'll have a grateful little victor for rescuing her from that…. crap." He straightened up — clearly ready to start fighting with Fury on the spot. "And I'm telling you, I'm not letting that happen. If you can do it the third day, you can do it the first and save that girl from being passed around the Capitol like a damn party favor."

Whatever rage Logan had walked in with hadn't ebbed in the least. If anything, he was shaking a bit now that he'd gotten it off his chest.

Finally, Fury let out a breath slowly and looked to the three silent parties at the conference table for a moment — none of whom were about to make a peep, though the smug looks on all of their faces were plain enough to see. "Fine," Fury said, very calmly. "First night, before any after-parties can start up."

Logan relaxed slightly and lifted his chin Fury's direction, sure there was more to come.

"Now, your trainer has been pestering me since you got into the Capitol. It's time, he says, for a test. I'm sure he's up. Go and try not to make a fool of yourself," Fury instructed. "I know it's been a long time since you've had a session with Ogun."

Logan glanced toward Coulson, Hill, and May, then looked back to Fury with a nod. "Fine," he replied under his breath before he slipped out of the door behind Fury's desk.

"If I'd known we needed to get one of your favorites in here to argue my exact same points, I'd have scheduled him accordingly," Hill said dryly.

"Don't start," Fury warned with a glare.

"She has a point," May said, smirking hard. "Should we be concerned that you're getting your tactical advice from a nineteen-year-old and not your AD? Even if it is the same advice, ultimately?"

"His AD didn't threaten to kill a royal and say Fury sent him," Coulson pointed out in his most reasonable tone. "It's all in the delivery, apparently."

"I'll work on that," Hill promised Coulson with a little grin.

* * *

Skye, Fitz, and Simmons were all crowded around Skye's laptop as they watched the show go down — first in a slight state of panic when Fitzsimmons had seen Logan storm Fury's office… and then with nothing short of pure entertainment as they watched Logan take Fury down several pegs and tell him how it was going to be.

"Has he taught you how to do that yet, Skye?" Fitz had to tease her, nudging her shoulder with his, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I'd need leverage to pull that off, smart guy," she replied.

"I don't think I've seen Agent May look that entertained since she glued all of Fitz's shoes to the floor," Simmons said.

"I don't know — you should have seen her on April Fool's," Skye said with a little smirk, remembering the show she'd caught on camera of both Fury and Hill going down in a tumble with their coffees.

The three of them chuckled to themselves over the whole situation for a while, glad to see that at least things had turned out well — and there hadn't been the fight in the middle of Fury's office that they'd been worried they would see, considering how Logan had looked when he came storming in like that.

"But you know — he had a point," Fitz said with a bit of seriousness as they finally came down from their joking a little. "I'd _much_ rather do the revolution sooner than later."

"And no more Games," Simmons agreed with a sparkle to her eyes. "No more mutts… no more projects like that…."

"No more sneaking around, either," Fitz agreed. "Once you rebel, you don't exactly have to hide that you're building super cool weapons for your rebellion, right?"

"And no more sneaking around to see a certain friend of yours, right, Skye?" Simmons added, grinning Skye's way.

"What? No. That's not… a … that's so not a thing." Skye shook her head at her, though her tone had faded off. "Keep me out of this," she said, holding up both hands.

They were still enjoying themselves when the intercom turned on with a beep, followed by a request from Fury. "I need a medic to my private training room," he said in an even tone.

All three of them glanced at each other in alarm, sure that it was a call for Logan, since Simmons had patched him up after training with Ogun before. "O...okay. Yes sir. I'll be right there," Simmons said quickly, though she was already worrying with both of her hands pressed together by the time she'd grabbed her supplies and rushed to the training room.

When Fury let her into the office, Coulson, May, and Hill were all looking a bit alarmed at whatever had happened, and it put Simmons on edge — until Logan walked out of the training room with little more than a few fresh cuts and bruises.

"Don't look at me," Logan said before he gestured to the door. "I'm fine."

But of course, that had Simmons staring at him even more openly as she put together who it was that Fury had requested the medic for — though professionalism kicked in a moment later, and she hurried herself inside to look over the absolutely trounced Ogun. He was in rough shape, his arm broken again, among other injuries, and his walking stick in two pieces beside him.

Simmons didn't say anything about it, but she logged it away in the back of her mind to tell Skye exactly how scary her newest friend was when he put his mind to it.

Logan had taken up a spot leaning on Fury's desk with his arms crossed, since he was actually listening to Fury's suggestion to wait before he went back to his suite. So when Simmons was done, he almost wasn't surprised when the little lab rat pointed his way. "Come see me again by tomorrow night at the _latest_. You haven't been by the lab in weeks, and I need one more follow-up, just to be sure on longer-term effects."

"That's what you said last time," Logan grumbled.

She shook her head at him. "That's simply part of the scientific process, I'm afraid. We like to make doubly sure. Triply so, even."

"Don't give my biochemist a hard time," Fury said with a dry look, and Logan looked only slightly irritated before he nodded.

"Tomorrow," Logan said with a low grumble.

"I'll make it as painless as possible," Simmons promised on her way out the door.


	41. After the After-Party

**Chapter 41: "After the After-Party"**

* * *

 _July 24_

 _Capitol Party_

* * *

Honestly, America was a little annoyed by the time the last night of parties had come around. The group of victors who had _totally ditched_ her the other night had been a little grumpier than usual, and she did _not_ want to be stuck with the older victors and the creepier ones. Which left her with not that many options for people to hang out with.

Not that they were all _horrible_. Hank McCoy and Charles Xavier were nice enough and made an honest effort to ask her how she was doing, but they didn't seem to appreciate her sense of humor quite like the younger crowd she'd had the first night.

And Johnny Storm was asking to get stuffed into a trash can, so she wasn't exactly going anywhere near the Fantastic Four either.

She would much rather just go _home_. Get about a month's worth of sleep. Pretend this whole thing never happened. Go out in the woods and… and try real hard not to look too long at Tommy or Teddy while she was making sure they didn't get themselves stupidly killed either.

But this one was the last night. Noh had pulled out the nicest red dress yet for the meet and greet with the president so she could be crowned and go _home_. And if she was honest, she looked _great_ in it; she just didn't feel like dancing and showing off how great she looked.

Of course, this was the biggest night of the whole celebration, so her plan to find a nice corner at the party and shout encouragement at her stylist as he tried to pretend he wasn't totally dating Seven's… well, that fell through. As soon as she arrived, everyone there wanted to dance with her.

 _Everyone_.

Sam was first to whisk her out onto the dance floor with a little smirk. "You wanna make everyone else look bad?"

"What, you guys jealous?" she shot back.

"Of you? Never," he said with a little shake of his head.

"Too bad. I was all prepared to let you off the hook for totally ditching me if you were too depressed by how amazing I am."

"We did _not_ ditch you," he promised. "But you are amazing."

"I don't fall for flattery," she smirked.

"Good thing I'm not makin' it up then," he laughed. "Come on. You and me — nobody's gonna look this good tonight."

She considered him for a moment and had to chuckle. "Only if I don't get to dance with the blonde from Two," she allowed. "That happens, and we're stealing the thunder from you."

"Girl, that ain't even gonna do it, but you're welcome to try."

"Give me five minutes after I _ditch_ you," she shot back.

"Oh. You're gonna ditch me?" He said with his eyebrows raised. "Nuh-uh. Nope." He took her hand and spun her — right into Jess, who caught her from the spin and pulled her into a slow twirl.

"We'll try to keep you from the politicians tonight," Jess promised.

"Oh, is that what the pass-the-America game is about?" America asked. "And here I thought you just couldn't keep away."

"Yes, and yes," she agreed. "And you'll thank us for it later."

All night, it seemed she was twirled from one friendly face to the next — though the stylists seemed to be the ones to step in most often for the fast dances, just so she wasn't alone. She particularly liked dancing with Jubilee or with GoGo, one of Eight's stylists. They knew how to have fun, and GoGo was single, too.

So when Logan found her for one of the slow songs just after she'd finished dancing her heart out with GoGo, she had to smirk at him. "Oh, you're a step down."

"No kidding; I could say the same," he shot back.

"Yeah? Who were you dancing with before me?" America challenged him.

"Bottle of Crown Royal."

America looked over her shoulder and then back at Logan. "Oh, come on. I am _such_ a big step up from Scowling and Blue."

"Scowling and blue?" he asked with a frown. "What the hell're you talking about?"

"So you weren't dancing with Quill's favorite sister-in-law?'

"Christ no," he said with a scrunched up nose. "I was drinking. Whiskey."

"Had to check. Then I'll give you that I'm not a step up," America allowed, breaking into a grin. "I was about to get all offended."

"Just lookin' for a reason to slap me and storm off, eh?" he teased.

"I had a _gorgeous_ dance partner, alright?"

"You can have her back when you catch your breath," he promised. "And she can take it away again."

"Smooth," she laughed as she let him lead her through the crowd of dancers. "But accurate."

"GoGo, huh?" he said with a smirk. "She's fun."

"Single, too," America said with a shameless grin.

"You oughta do something about that," he advised.

"Yeah? I'm heading back to Twelve tomorrow morning. I'll see if she's still single when I come back later," America reasoned.

"She will be," he replied, though he wasn't looking at her, rather scanning the crowd over her shoulder with a neutral look on his face.

"Catch like her? We'll see," America said, shaking her head, though when she noticed that Logan's gaze wasn't on her, she moved to follow it.

It took her the better part of the song, but America found what it was that Logan wasn't looking at when a pretty girl with long, dark hair pulled a ridiculous face as soon as Logan was even partly turned her way.

"She single?" America asked.

Logan frowned and met her gaze. "Who?"

"Girl making faces by the table across from Sam's," America said, tipping her head in the correct direction.

He made a little disinterested sound. "No idea," he said with a little shrug. "You want me to leave you two alone?"

"You could introduce me," America said with a smirk.

"Why, you shy all of a sudden? Going for the blushing school girl look? Because I don't think you can pull that one off, princess."

"Nope, not a chance," she said. "I'd just like to know which of us she's looking at."

"Well, by all means," he said with a tiny smirk. "Check it out."

America smirked his way and took it as a challenge, pushing through the dancers until she got to where the young woman was as she leaned over the table. "America Chavez," she said, offering the girl her hand to shake. "Currently looking for a dance partner. You available, or are you waiting for someone?"

"Oh, that's — I'm fine," the girl said quickly, suddenly interested in drinking what she had in her hand even if she hadn't really touched it until then.

"You know, he's not a half bad dancer," America pressed, grinning when that made the girl turn pink. "Yeah, that's what I thought." She waved at the girl with the tips of her fingers. "See you around. Good luck with your… waiting."

When she got back to Logan, he was at the bar with a drink in hand, halfway through it and again half-heartedly scanning the room. "Run out of dance partners?" he asked before he tipped the glass back and took a drink.

"Not me. I'm too fabulous for that," she said.

"Uh huh, that's why you're with me at the bar, eh?"

"Oh, I just thought it was sad to see you here by yourself with the pretty girl staring at you all… pink and blushing," America said, grinning with all sorts of trouble in her eyes.

He chuckled a little at her. "Well. Now I am shocked," he said, not sounding it in the least. "Here I thought tonight was all about finding _you_ pretty girls to make friends with."

"I can share when they're not interested in me," she said with a smirk.

"I'm fine with the whiskey, I think," he replied. "But if you wanted to get after GoGo, I think she's done getting glittered with Jubilee. Proceed at your own risk."

"You think I can't handle a little glitter, you're out of your mind. But then, I guess I'm a little braver than you."

"You're not going to goad me into pestering that girl."

"One dance. If she says no, I'm sure your ego will survive."

He had to laugh at that. "You act like my ego isn't beaten down all the time."

"So what's got you turning chicken? It's not like you're proposing. It's just a _dance_. I danced with Jubes, and she's got a _line_."

"It's not a great idea to pick up girls at these parties," he told her, letting his tone get more serious.

"I have a discerning eye. I don't give trash the time of day," she promised.

"Oh, and you think I do?" he countered, both eyebrows raised her way.

"I dunno; you've just been drinking and chickening out of anybody decent but me."

"Just because you're such a tough act to follow," he said with a little smirk. "So instead of giving me a hard time — who do you want to dance with next?"

"What, and let you continue to live in this chicken coop?" she asked, complete with a 'bwak' and a crooked grin.

He grinned her way with a little laugh. "I don't really give a damn about the picking," he said. "But I can take you over to the girl from Two if you want a spin. Saw you lookin' that way enough."

"She's pretty easy on the eyes," America allowed.

"And not a half-bad dancer," he told her. "If you don't mind the close dancing."

"Never bothered me," America said with a shrug. "But then, I'm braver than you."

"Come on," he said, setting his drink down and pulling her onto the dance floor to work their way across the room. But when they got to where the other lady victors were gathered, Logan had to chuckle before he spun her to the girl from Two … the _wrong_ girl from Two. "Have fun, Ophelia." He gave America a little salute with two fingers before he put his hands in his pockets and walked away from the whole situation.

America's look of betrayal was very nearly Bobbi's undoing as she tried her best not to laugh when she caught up to Logan. "Need a partner? Apparently, no one wants to dance with me."

"You didn't get enough already?" he asked as she pulled him onto the dance floor.

"I'll take you back to the bar after. I just want to see this…" Bobbi grinned and shook her head, looking toward America and Viper as they danced far too close for America's liking.

"She should enjoy it," Logan said. "She said she liked the close dancers."

"You know that's not what she meant," Bobbi said, though there was not a hint of any _real_ chiding in her voice.

"She also said she wasn't scared of anything. So…."

"What'd she do?" Bobbi had to ask. She hadn't been this entertained pretty much since the Games started, and she couldn't stop grinning.

"Couldn't let something drop," Logan replied. "I got a little irritated."

"A little."

"If she'd really pissed me off, I'd have twirled her into Shmidt."

"You never know. She might enjoy pissing him off if you wind them both up right," Bobbi mused.

"Easy enough on both counts," he conceded.

"Good for her, though. She seems to be doing alright," Bobbi said, a bit more seriously.

"It's gonna stay that way too," Logan said with a little glare.

"Hey." Bobbi met his gaze evenly. "I'm not going to screw it up for her. Viper's not interested either. Not really."

"I know," he said with a nod.

She spun with him for a moment before she couldn't quite help but grin at him. "Heard about your morning yesterday," she said low. "I was his appointment after that particular meeting. They were still looking smug when I got there."

"Yeah? Then I was just making their point for them. Good."

She chuckled at that but leaned into the dance to whisper, "Just be ready after that first day. Not all twenty-five of us are on the same side."

"I'm not worried about that," he said. "I know there's going to be some trouble. And likely we won't all make it out alive. I only want to see ours get out. To hell with the rest of 'em."

"I hear that," she said with a little smirk before the song ended and she took a slight step back. "Need an escort to the bar?"

"Only if you have a drink with me," he countered.

"You're on."

Logan offered her his arm, and the two of them slipped around the bulk of the crowd to the bar. They'd just gotten their drinks when America caught up to them. "How was your dance with the girl from Two?" Logan asked with a smirk as he picked up his drink.

"Bite me," she said his way.

"Mine was lovely, thanks," Logan said, again not looking her way.

"Listen, you're just… nobody's buying your deflection, and all you've done is steal my dance partner." America narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hey. You said the girl from Two," Logan defended. "You needed to be more specific."

" _You_ said the girl from Two. It was a setup."

"It's not my fault you forgot about Viper," he said with a shrug. "Besides, she's the close dancer. Bobbi has some respect, and by the by, she was the one to ask me to dance."

"Alright if I dance with you anyway?" America asked Bobbi, who was at that point just trying not to laugh at the whole situation.

"I'd love to," Bobbi chuckled.

They'd only just hit the dance floor when the music stopped, and America looked positively put out — though it was quickly obvious what had happened as the royal family came sweeping up to the center stage.

The ceremony was quick and to the point. The crowd was perfectly silent to hear Thanos' low rumble while he crowned their victor and gave a short speech on the success of the Games and the Quarter Quell before the party was officially disbanded for the evening. America was nearly pouting as she made her way back to where Bobbi and Jessica were quietly discussing the details of the speech, which made no sense at all to any sensible person. It seemed as though the president's ramblings had taken a turn to the crazy side this time out of the gate.

"Next time, Two," America told Bobbi.

"The name's Bobbi," she corrected her. "And you better not cop out on me."

"Not a chance," America assured her with a crooked grin as she and Jessica, along with most of the other victors, headed back to their suites. They'd be leaving early the next morning anyway, so everyone was looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Bobbi and Logan however, had other things to do, and the two of them slipped off to find their way to the Triskellion. Bobbi had new intel for Fury, and Logan had an overdue trip to the lab for Simmons. He slipped his jacket off once he stepped into the lab, took a seat, and leaned his head back against the wall to wait.

When Simmons came in, it was of course with Fitz close behind, and she gave him a little smile. "I know you're tired, but I promise, I just need this one thing and then you can go."

"That's what you _always_ say," he pointed out, though he didn't even open his eyes as he kept his head tipped back.

"I know. That's what they train us to say, actually," she admitted.

"Well, try the truth," he argued, sitting up straighter. "It'll get you further."

"I really do think this is the last one," she said, then paused. "Of course, that's what I thought last time, but never mind that." She quickly got him set up, and she was all ready before something made her pause, and she looked a little closer at him. "Logan… you… you do know that I can't do anything with results when you're _drunk_ , don't you?"

"I'm not drunk," he argued. "Got a buzz, sure."

"I can't…" She threw up her hands in frustration.

"I'll make the coffee," Fitz offered before Simmons could say anything else.

"I could leave and come back tomorrow," Logan offered.

"No, no. I'll just have to poke you with a few more needles than I told you."

"I knew it," he said with his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Relax. I'm only going to give you an IV of saline," she promised him. "To try to flush the alcohol from your system."

"Sweetheart, I couldn't give a damn right now if I tried," he said as he leaned back and rolled his sleeve up.

Simmons rolled her eyes but got down to work setting him up, and when he was set with the IV bag, she nodded once at her good work. "Now, I'll be back in a bit. If you're really bored, I'm sure I could get a magazine," she teased.

"Forget it," he said with a frown. "I'll just catch a nap."

It didn't take him long to drift off, either, though when he did wake up again, it wasn't because Simmons had come back to take her tests but because Skye had arrived and dropped her shoes off unceremoniously on the counter. She called out to Fitzsimmons with the intent to tell them about the party and how _stupid_ it was that Coulson was making her go to these things — until she saw Logan and froze.

"I thought you were — what, did you somehow get hurt again just by walking here from the party?" she asked, gesturing at the IV bag.

"Came for a test, and then I was informed that my blood was inferior with too much alcohol in it. Sounds like a pack of dirty, dirty lies to me," he replied.

"Well, alright then," she said, though she didn't make a move to leave, instead hopping up on the counter to sit on it. "Mind if I wait with you?"

"Nope," he said shaking his head lightly. He paused for a moment before he had to ask. "Didn't like the party much then, huh?"

"Coulson wants me to work on my interpersonal skills," she complained.

"Like he's got room to talk about interpersonal skills," Logan muttered.

"No, I mean, like, he wants me to work on them so I can… I dunno. He seems to think I'm good for negotiations or things like that. Last mission I ran, I was the 'face of the outfit' or something," she said.

"Sounds … interesting," he replied. "Especially for someone makin' that many faces in public."

She smirked at that. "May calls it 'leadership training', but I call it 'Coulson hates going to parties alone', so you be the judge."

"Probably both," he said before he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I don't think anyone around here does anything for one reason."

"Then you have not seen Fitz doing his 'I'm going to ask her out' stare of longing recently," she said with a smirk.

"I have. It's ridiculous," he said with a little laugh.

" _That_ is single-minded resolve, my friend," Skye said.

"I can fix that."

"Don't ask Simmons out again; you nearly killed Fitz."

"I didn't ask her out," he laughed. "I just … I smiled at her. That's all."

"Then Fitz is an overdramatic storyteller. Surprise, surprise."

"Well, I mighta screwed with him a little bit first." He turned her way with a smirk. "But I didn't ask her out."

Skye laughed at that, though before she could say anything more, Simmons arrived. "Sorry, sorry, got sidetracked," she told Logan. "Oh, hello Skye!"

"Hey, Jemma." Skye waved with the tips of her fingers.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt, I just need to take a bit of blood…" Simmons scooted around the room to take a quick blood test from Logan, who was so used to it from her at this point that it was almost routine. "Right. We're just going to check this…"

"Thought you weren't going to poke any more needles into him," Skye teased.

"She can't help herself," Logan teased with a straight face.

"Oh, he did this to himself. He knew I needed to do one last check, and what does he come in here with? Whiskey on his breath that's what." Simmons huffed, looking only more irritated as she got the alcohol test running.

"Don't know why, considering the show he put on yesterday. AC never looked so pleased," Skye teased Logan.

"That guy needs a vacation," Logan muttered to himself.

"Give him another, oh, five months. Give or take," Skye said with a little smirk. "Maybe he'll relax after things get going."

"Don't count on it," he replied. "All hell's gonna break loose."

"Yeah, but he's going balder every day sitting on the lid to this thing. He wanted to move, like, last year," Skye pointed out.

"Well if I'd have known …" Logan said with a look.

"He's the one who told Fury this was the last Games," Skye told him.

"Shoulda been the last one last year."

"Yeah. I hear you. But if you ask me, Fury would've let it go on for another few just to get everything _perfect_ ," Skye said with a little glare.

"Dunno what the hell's so damn perfect about this crap," he mumbled.

"It's not," Skye started to tell him, though she was interrupted by Simmons' little cry when she saw the blood results.

"You — you just… get out of my lab!" she almost shouted Logan's way. "Go wait somewhere else until you stop being so… so…!"

"I can go wait in Seven," he countered with a trouble making smirk.

"You will _not_. You do that, and you'll never give me anything usable," Simmons countered, her hands on her hips.

"Very likely."

"I can take him down the hall," Skye offered. She shrugged Logan's way. "Residential for the team. If you don't mind the popcorn bowls and throw blankets we still haven't picked up."

"Got something I can change into?" he asked.

"Do I or Fitz look like we come in your size?" Skye asked.

"I was hoping for another option, to be honest," Logan replied. "Figured there'd be spares …. Nevermind."

"You can see if Coulson's got anything. He won't be home for a while," Skye said.

"I'll stick with what I got, thanks," he said with a shrug. "If I had a couple more drinks, I could sleep just fine. Or walk back without the suit. One or the other."

"If you hadn't, you would be back in your suite asleep right _now_ ," Simmons shot back.

"If I hadn't, I'd probably be dead for killing some jackass at that party."

"That bad?" Simmons asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's always that bad in there," he told her.

Simmons huffed out a frustrated sigh before she waved her hand at both of them. "I'll come find you in a few hours. Just… don't. Drink."

"You're cruel," he said, though he had to see if he could tease her. "If you weren't so damn cute, I'd be mad."

"Then it's a good thing I am," Simmons said with a little sniff, missing the look on Fitz's face across the lab when he'd heart it.

They barely got out of the doors before Logan started to chuckle. "Ya see Fitz? _He_ could use a couple shots."

"No kidding," Skye laughed. "You really have to stop that. He's going to explode."

"I told him: if he wants to admit he's interested, I'll quit picking on him."

"You're going to be picking on him for a long, long time," she said, shaking her head. "That's been a thing since Coulson picked me up."

"He'll get there," he said. "And one of these days she won't be so ticked off at me not to notice when I flirt with 'er. Then I won't be able to come down to play without her running away."

She snorted. "She knows you don't mean it. I'm pretty sure."

"She hasn't heard it," he insisted. "If I wasn't the guy that I am, I'd kiss her just to get a rise out of her." He tipped his head to the side a bit. "And … probably send FItz into cardiac arrest." He paused and pointed her way. "Which would work, because she'd have to save him. CPR and all that."

"Then it's a good thing for both of them that you're not that kind of guy," she said, though she was no longer laughing.

"You could give that a shot too," he said. "Only … in reverse. She'd freak out if someone else laid one on him."

"That's not really my style," Skye said as they finally got to the lounge area. "And Fitz might think I meant it and get all _weird_."

"Never know," he said with a smirk. "Might be the one."

"I'm not stepping in the middle of Fitzsimmons. That's just… not happening," she said, shaking her head.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard," he said. "They just need a little push."

"Just let them set their own pace," Skye said, waving her hand as she started to clear off some bowls and other things that had been on the coffee table when she and the others had last used the couch.

"Sure they will."

She dropped into the couch at last. "You're going to give him a heart attack. That's not fixing it."

"Totally hands off," he said as he joined her on the couch and let out a sigh. "I promise."

She shook her head at him and then tipped her head back to look up at the ceiling. She took in long, deep breath before she let it out. "So." She glanced his way down the length of her nose. "Let's have it, then."

"Have what?"

"It's just you and me, and I told you I'd tell you everything about the Games and the list and everything else, so — go for it. I know it pissed you off."

"Smart girl to wait until I'm half buzzed." He twisted toward her and put one arm on the back of the couch when he realized what she was getting at. The job. "Okay, I'll bite. Why'd you agree? They threaten your family? Someone you care about?"

She let out a sigh and sat up straight to face him. "I don't have a family, so no. Coulson's team arrested me and asked me to join up instead of, you know, facing Thanos' decreed punishment for terrorist activities," she said. "I just thought it would be more hacking and computer programs — and it would give me a chance to see the inner workings of the organization I was trying to hack in the first place."

He frowned at that and thought it over for a moment. "I didn't think Coulson was like that."

"He's not," Skye said quickly. "I just didn't know that at the time. And … I really did get arrested for terrorism, so if I leave SHIELD…."

"You... are not a terrorist," he said with a shake of his head.

"Hacked into the presidential palace twice and got close enough to one of Fury's secret projects in SHIELD to warrant Coulson's team coming for me," she countered.

"Secret project, eh?" He leaned closer to her. "So. You pissed off Nick. That's not hard to do. The only reason he didn't let Thanos catch you is because he wanted to use your talents for himself. Hell, if he didn't want to use me for ...whatever, I'd probably have picked a fight with Ronan and died by now. So, am I missing anything?"

"About why I agreed to work for SHIELD?"

"Yeah," he said.

"No, I think being arrested and saving my neck just about covers it," she said with a little nod.

He nodded and glanced down at his knees as he thought it all over. "Then I can't get mad at you for that. Not after all the crap I've done for Fury. Wasn't by your choice — so at least you're not a psycho that gets her kicks out of it. I think."

"You… no, no. That — that's just the start of it, though," Skye insisted, surprised into spluttering. She had clearly come prepared to defend herself, ready for him to read her the riot act — not simply accept what she said and move on.

"Then you're going to have to help me out here," he told her. "I don't know what questions you want me to ask, and like Simmons said — I'm _drunk_. My mind ain't on _espionage_ , darlin'."

Skye blushed bright red. "I just thought — you knew the kids being picked for the Games weren't random…"

"I'm not as stupid as I look," he said. "Those kids wouldn't have made it to adulthood anyhow. Too many brainiacs."

"Brainiacs and leaders and people that Fury would like to use," Skye agreed, her eyes wide.

"You really think most of us didn't know we were picked on purpose?" he asked.

"How would I know?" Skye asked. "That… that was my whole _job_ was looking over the list to make it look _random_ ," she said in a rush.

"Didn't say we knew the _purpose_ ," he pointed out. "Just that it wasn't coincidence."

"Well, it wasn't. Not for you in your Games, and … and not this year…"

He shook his head and closed his eyes. This conversation was killing what little was left of his buzz. "I know why they wanted some of us. The _killers._ But I don't … I don't understand the ones like little 'Ro. Or the ones that I … a _ny of my alliances_. Far as this year? I figured Scott was probably my fault," he said. "For trying to take care of the kids."

"I really hope that wasn't why he was on the list," Skye said earnestly. "I kept trying — I kept asking Coulson to take him off, and I tried _every_ argument I knew, and I couldn't—"

He seemed to have missed that part, because instead of pressing it, he shook his head and held up one hand to silence her. "It's done."

But she was really working up to it now, clearly upset, and he started to come out of his buzz a lot quicker as she got more wound up. "I went to _every_ district, Logan, and I looked at every face and every name and it wasn't like last year when it was just numbers — there were _actual kids and faces,_ and I made _recommendations_ and I tried, I really tried to keep the ones I didn't want out of the Games, but every single one that I said no to — they just — and they all died and _my name's_ on the signoff sheet and—"

He stared at her openly as she got wound up - and more and more frantic, and when it was clear that she was on the brink of a real freak out, he reached over and pulled her into a bear hug and tried to get her to stop. "Come on. That wasn't on you. Not your fault," he insisted. "That's on Fury, and you can bet that any signoff sheet that could prove that it's all hand-picked — it doesn't exist anymore.."

She totally crumbled into him at the hug, half hiding as she cried all over his shoulder. "I killed them, Logan. I killed Scott and those other kids…"

"Knock it off," he rumbled in a more commanding tone as he shifted how he was holding her. "That wasn't your call. Fury was the one that made all the final choices. He's _always_ the one that makes the final choices." He waited until she had more or less gotten herself back under control before he had to pick on her. "Besides, you couldn't take any of those kids in a fight."

She paused, almost like she couldn't believe he was picking on her _now_ , of all times, before she picked her head up and realized she could still easily smell the whiskey on his breath. "Shut up, Logan."

He smiled at her, since, clearly, she was getting past her panic. "Am I irritatin' you?" He didn't wait for her to respond before he readjusted his grip on her and pulled her into a more comfortable position that felt a lot more familiar than the simple bear hug.

"No. But you are just _wrong._ And your sense of humor is stupid," she muttered, though he could see that she was smirking even if she had laid her head back down on him.

"Yeah, I know. I'm a terrible person all around. Not a newsflash," he agreed. "So why didn't you take America up on her dance? She wanted to dip you. Prolly take a shot at second base too."

"She wasn't asking for herself, you idiot," she replied, shaking her head.

"Not entirely true," he said. "She was askin' to see which one of us you were makin' faces at, but there's no way in hell I'd pull that kind of heat down on you."

She took a deep breath. "I appreciate that. Don't really want to be on the cover of a newspaper as a floozy on your arm anyway," she said with a steadily growing smirk.

"Yeah, nobody wants _that_ ," he agreed. "Though I think you got it backwards; I'm the one that's supposed to be the floozy."

"Around here, though? No cameras?" She grinned at him. "I won't play floozy, but… thanks. For the hug. I … totally thought you'd hate me," she admitted that last part in a rush.

He scrunched up his nose at her and shook his head. "You don't hold a soldier responsible for followin' orders. Not much different than what you were dealin' with."

"Hey, it's not like the record was real encouraging. I was part of the process that got Scott and a whole bunch of innocent kids killed. What was I _supposed_ to think your reaction to that would be?" she defended. "You make a habit of forgiving people who screw with kids?"

He drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. "No. But, with all that I know, and all that they have me doing? Everyone in this organization is being used," he pointed out. "You did what you had to with a gun to your head, and we all have to do crap we would _never_ do otherwise."

"I could have said no," she muttered.

"And died," he replied quickly. "Even if Coulson was okay with you turning them down, Fury wouldn't have been." He let out a little huff. "Hell, with the crap I've been pulling with him, I know he's got a plan to bury me first chance he's got."

"Yeah, could you try and avoid that?" Skye asked, her nose scrunched up. "If I'm sticking around, you have to, too. Screw Fury and his metaphorical firing squads — and the real ones, too."

"Actually it's an assassination team," he said as he pointed to himself. "Which you know all about."

"Yes, yes I do," she nodded. "And now you know about _my_ job, at least the Games part, so… dirty secrets. Fun times. Yay." She twirled the air with her finger.

"This whole thing is depressing," he said. "We should have a drink." But when Skye gave him a look he closed his eyes and let out a breath. "At least there's a date to work toward. And whatever comes after that …"

"Whatever comes after that will be better than all this crap with the Capitol running things," Skye said firmly.

"Sure," he said, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "If we live through the damn thing."

"What, you planning to cop out on me the second we start the revolution?" she asked him, half serious as she watched his expression. "Because that would be incredibly rude. We put all that work in and you just…"

"I know. Don't die before I've outlived my usefulness. But I don't plan on anything," he replied.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"In my defense, any time I've ever tried to make plans, they blow up in my face," he said. "So I just .. don't."

"I get that, actually," Skye said with a little nod, though she still looked a bit nervous. "Grew up with no family," she explained, pointing at herself. "Didn't get too attached to the ones that took me in when they just… fell through. So I get it."

"You were lucky you had some that tried. Even if they didn't try too damn hard." He looked around the room for a moment, ready for a change in subject. "So. Now what?"

"Well, I was expecting you to get mad and leave in a huff, so I literally have no idea," she admitted.

"I can wreck the place and make a scene if that's what you want," he told her. "But to be honest, I don't want to go back to the suite an' I'm settlin' in."

"We could just… stay here?" she offered. "There are throw blankets, and… and I can sleep in my place if you think you can make it all night without drinking and throwing off Simmons' results," she added quickly.

"I can pretty much guarantee that if you leave me alone for five minutes, I _will_ get into Fury's new stash." He gave her a significant look. "We don't get whiskey that good in the woods, and I'm sure he thinks he hid it better this time."

"Then I guess I'm staying here, too," she said, though she didn't seem the least bit disappointed as she looked around for the throw blankets she'd balled up and thrown aside in her 'quick clean' of the room. "We can watch something…. Not the Games footage… something funny…." She looked through the options stashed under the TV as she muttered to herself.

He didn't move to lay down and instead kicked his feet up on the coffee table and settled into the corner of the couch with his arms on the back. "Anything but the Games," he said.

She nodded to herself until she'd picked out an old black and white comedy, one of Coulson's that she hadn't ever seen. "Let's see how AC's taste is."

"Dry and stiff," Logan replied with his eyes closed and his head resting on the back of the couch.

When she stopped at the couch, she stood there for a moment — clearly unsure of where to sit down and not wanting to push. Logan finally opened his eyes and saw what her dilemma was and had to shake his head at her before he waved her over with one hand. "I'm not going to bite."

"I didn't think you would," she said quickly, sitting down beside him as she turned the volume down a bit — so they could still hear it but it wasn't so loud it would prevent active napping this late at night.

When she still looked a little nervous, he let out a sigh and pulled her over with one arm. "Relax. Watch your weird movie."

"It's Coulson's weird movie. I won't claim it until I know how good it is," she said, still not quite relaxed but apparently surprised to find that he was.

"Sure," he replied. "Let me know how it is when it's over."

His head tipped forward a few minutes later, and his eyes drifted shut. She peeked at him when he suddenly drew in a big, deep, hitched breath and let it out quickly — clearly asleep, and perfectly relaxed.

As it turned out, though, Skye didn't find out if the movie was any good either; she ended up falling asleep not long after.

A few hours later, Simmons came looking for them to finally get the tests done that she needed in the first place. "Oh!" She put one hand over her mouth when she saw the two of them sleeping on the couch, not necessarily curled up, but still leaned into each other.

There was no stopping the grin that crept over her expression, and she glanced at the clock, quickly calculating how much time she'd need to do the tests before she absolutely _had_ to get Logan back to his suite for the sendoff of the victors… She really didn't want to break this up.


	42. You Will Never Be the Same

**(A/N): Oh yeah. Things are definitely heating up as we barrel toward revolution. ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 42: You Will Never Be the Same**

* * *

 _July 25_

 _Tahiti Wing_

* * *

Charles had been waiting all morning for the young woman to wake up. By all accounts, and calculations, it should have happened by now. But so far, Monet simply hadn't responded.

He didn't worry much at first, because, frankly, it was a delicate, sometimes unpredictable process that varied from one subject to the next … but when an hour had come and gone, he was sure something was terribly wrong.

He hated to do it, but when he realized that it simply wasn't a normal wake up, he made his way over to the comm to ask for one of the medical doctors to step in.

To his surprise, it was Essex who responded, looking annoyed and having pulled called in — right up until he saw that Monet still hadn't moved. "That ... should not be happening," he said with a frown and a tone of sheer disbelief.

"I wouldn't have bothered you for anything less," Charles assured him. "But she simply hasn't moved a muscle."

"That doesn't make sense," Essex said in a frustrated tone as he checked over the monitoring equipment, the readings, and then checked the girl herself. As Charles had said, she wasn't moving, but there was just no reason for it.

Essex frowned down at the unmoving girl for a moment before he swept off in a rush and returned with more extensive equipment, still frowning. "There is no reason… everything about her procedure was perfect… did it myself," he muttered more to himself than anything else as he checked her over.

But to Essex' increasingly obvious vexation, he couldn't find any good reason for Monet to be as still and unresponsive as she was. She was conscious, and everything seemed to be working perfectly well — from her reflexes to her brain waves. She was aware, taking in everything around her — but she simply … wasn't responding.

"Can it be fixed?" Charles asked gently.

"There is nothing _to_ fix," Essex ground out as he tossed aside another test that showed the same thing: she was perfectly fine. "Everything indicates she should be up and around. There's not a _thing_ wrong with her!"

"Then it's a broken mind," Charles concluded. "I'm sorry so much of your good work has gone nowhere with this one."

Essex let out a low hiss of frustration. " _No_ reason for it," he ground out before he shook his head and simply started to pack up his things. "We can monitor her, see if we can find what went wrong, but for now, she'll have to be moved elsewhere."

"Of course," Charles agreed.

"If there's any change, I want to be notified immediately."

"You will be the very first to know," he promised.

Essex glanced toward Charles for a moment, almost sizing him up, before he simply left the room, still clearly upset at the failure.

* * *

 _July 25_

 _District Twelve Suite_

* * *

It was the last morning in the Capitol, and there really wasn't much of anything left to do except go home, but America found herself watching her stylist and his little 'line' friend somehow staying busy worrying over something very important that they'd misplaced — like, oh, an entire victor.

"I thought this was your whole job," America teased Jubilee; she couldn't help but pick on her.

"Technically? No," Jubilee defended. "I'm just supposed to make sure he looks good? Moira is supposed to make sure he is where he's supposed to be, but she is mysteriously missing. Again." She had held up her fingers as she made air quotes and rolled her eyes, knowing exactly where Moira was … and knowing that Logan was nowhere near that noise.

"Well, you're not technically anywhere near Seven's suite either. You were here all night," America pointed out with a little smirk.

Jubilee crossed her arms and gave America a once over. "I … checked. He is not there, or with the other troublemakers in Eight either."

"What about his messages? Perhaps his… _friend_ knows where he was?" Noh offered. "Have you checked his tablet to see if she was yelling at him for anything?"

"No, I didn't," she admitted with a growing grin. "We could take a tiny peek. It's ... in his best interests, right? To be sure he's not drinking with Viper again."

"Don't make excuses; just do it and tell him if he doesn't want us to do stuff like that, he shouldn't go missing and drinking with Viper," America said.

"You have a fine point," Jubilee agreed. "Are you staying here with the _weird_ Twelve stylist, or are you coming with us?"

"I'll go with you," she said with a quick nod, following the two of them out the door. "Besides, Ian might start talking about the 'welcome home' plans for Twelve again, and I do _not_ need that noise today."

Jubilee took America's arm with a smile and shook her head. "You'll be fabulous."

"Of course she will be; she's been nothing but," Noh agreed on Jubilee's other side, nodding fervently.

But when the trio got to Seven's suite, it was empty. Jubilee made her way to Logan's room to find the tablet and came out shaking her head. "Not a single chime." She had the tablet in her hand and dropped it on the coffee table before she flopped onto the couch. "So I can't even … ugh."

"So… he's not making poor decisions — or he is, and his tablet friend approves?" America offered.

"Apparently," Jubilee said. "So I guess … I have to wait here for him to come back from whatever mess he got into." She tipped her head to look at Noh. "Should we order some breakfast?"

"Pancakes?" he grinned at her.

"Oh yes," she nodded. "And scrambled eggs."

Noh grinned at that as he swept off to go get the breakfast ordered, and America hit Jubes lightly in the shoulder. "You two even need me around, or am I your unofficial 'chaperone'?" she teased.

"Oh, we definitely need the chaperone," Jubilee said seriously. "There are no cameras at our place, but here?" She shivered dramatically. "Trouble is just waiting to happen."

"Doesn't the fact that you have an 'our place' sort of give it away, though?" America pointed out.

"I don't think they _care_ as much for the stylists?" She said. "Now … if one of us was involved with a victor … closer scrutiny. By a lot. But when we're _here_..."

"So that's a 'careful around GoGo' warning? Because I think we hit it off…" America said with a crooked smile.

Jubilee smiled and rolled her head toward America. "She thinks you're _really_ cute," she sang out.

"She's not wrong!" America sang back to her.

"No, she's not," Jubilee agreed. "But yes, be careful. Keep it to yourself or in the dead spots as much as you can. Logan can show you _all_ of them." She sat up straighter and squared up with the most serious expression she could muster. " _All of them._ "

"Too bad he's not here right now. I bet I could at _least_ propose a line with her," America teased outright.

Before Jubilee could respond, the door opened, and Logan stepped inside and glanced around the room. "Mornin," he said gruffly on his way to change, not intending at all to explain himself.

"And what time do you call this?" America sang out to him. "Your little line friends were worried sick, I tell you. _Sick!"_

"I call it morning," he called out over his shoulder before he stepped into his room. "Give me five minutes. I gotta get out of this stupid suit. Even if it is off _the line_ "

"Long as you don't disappear before they can give you another _line_ suit," she laughed. "I think you're their only customer."

She could hear the chuckle from the other side of the door, and a few short minutes later, he stepped back out, looking much more like himself. "I think the term is 'unwilling coat hanger.'"

"Ah, but such a cute coat hanger. Spending all night getting bent out of shape doing… what, exactly?" America asked.

"Sleeping," he said on his way to get coffee. "What were you doing?"

"The same, only, you know, in my suite," America pointed out.

"Well that's boring," he replied, though he brought coffee for Jubilee with him. "Thought for sure you'd be in Eight."

"Already looked there for you," Jubilee said as she snatched up the coffee with a grin.

"Huh," he said and ignored the implication as he took a sip.

"So, whose bed were you using, since it clearly wasn't _yours_?" America asked with a cheeky grin, leaning over his shoulder. "Couldn't have been Viper, or your tablet would still be ringing nonstop."

He paused and looked her way. "No. I wasn't with Viper."

"The other Two, then," America said with a grin.

"No," he said. "I wasn't with Bobbi, she's got someone on the side."

"Cheating on you. Shameful," America laughed. "What's his name? I'll go hit him for you. Protect your honor."

"She's … no. She's not my type," he replied. "And her taste isn't _that_ … no."

"I think you broke him," Jubilee cackled delightedly.

Logan gave her a dry look for that. "I fell asleep watching a movie — didn't use _anyone's_ bed," he said. "No big deal."

"See? Was that so hard?" America asked him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yes. Because it's not your business," Logan replied as he set to work on his coffee.

"You can't blame us for being curious. You were nowhere — and not even your tablet was chiming to tell us if you were in trouble," Noh pointed out.

"Is that your measuring stick now?" Logan asked.

"It's a good early indicator," Noh defended. "A simple movie, and there is no chime. Drinking with the worst of the victors, and there are plenty."

Logan didn't comment either way, doing his best to distance himself from whatever it was Noh was trying to say. "Got anything to eat before we go?"

"Pancakes and eggs," Noh assured him.

"That'll do," he said, then got up to refill his mug.

And almost as soon as he'd stood up, the tablet chimed with a message and Jubilee sang out 'uh-oh, someone's in trou-ble'. But instead of it being another light threat or complaint, it was instructions — _Forgot to tell you I need to wipe the tablet; leave it under your seat on the train_ — but Jubilee wasn't so concerned about the message itself but the picture beside it. She _recognized_ that girl, and the fact that she'd mentioned the train pulled it together for her in a way that she hadn't been able to before.

"He-e-ey," Jubilee said, her eyes narrowed as she tipped her head to the side, and when Logan sat down, she smacked him in the arm. "What, did she just… follow you home?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked with a frown.

"This!" Jubilee slid the tablet to him and jammed her finger at the picture. "Don't even try and act like you haven't seen her before, either, because I _know_ things, Logan."

"She's a SHIELD agent," he replied before he picked it up to read the message. "No following anyone she's not told to do."

"So she's a professional stalker," America said with a crooked grin.

"Pretty sure that's the legal definition of SHIELD agent," Logan said dryly.

America smirked and looked over his shoulder at the tablet. "No, no. Professional stalker. You sure she's with SHIELD? Because she didn't strike me as a SHIELD type when she was making faces at you last night and blushing herself senseless."

He held his breath for a second or two. "She's not a very good agent. Pretty sure she got her badge from a walking tour." He closed out the tablet and set it down. "She must have been drinking. Or suffering from brain damage."

"Stalker," Jubilee said, arms crossed over her chest.

"Jubes, she's not a stalker," Logan chuckled.

Noh looked between the other three and had to shake his head. "She was at the party?"

"That's not it. _She's_ the one that picked the plaid, Noh," Jubilee said with her arms crossed over her chest. "She picked the plaid _on the train_." She gave him a significant look.

"Oh!" Noh's eyes lit up with understanding as he turned to Logan. "Oh… that… that does explain things, yes."

"How does that explain anything?" Logan asked looking a bit taken off track.

"Well, you could not possibly…. Not with anyone who would _not_ pick the plaid," Noh said as if that explained everything.

"You're not making any more sense than her," Logan said, gesturing to Jubilee. "Not that I'm surprised."

"He's in denial," America sang out. "He was doing that last night too."

"I can't believe you've lost it already," Logan said to her.

"It's plain enough to see," America said. "And this time, there's no blonde from Two to hide behind," she added with a wide smirk.

"The last person I'd hide behind is one of your girls from Two," he replied.

"Oh, both of them?" Noh asked with one eyebrow raised. "But you were getting along so well with GoGo…"

"His fault," America said, gesturing at Logan. "I said Bobbi was pretty, next thing I know, I've got Viper inches from my nose."

"Because you wouldn't _knock it off_ ," Logan reminded her.

"Because you were _hiding_ ," she shot right back.

"I was _not_ hiding," he said, perfectly serious. "I'm not ... " He let out a sigh and tried to find the best way to explain it. "I've had enough trouble in the Capitol. I'm not dragging _anyone_ into it. Not that anyone would _ever_ go for that mess on purpose."

Noh and Jubilee glanced at each other at that and shared a look of understanding even as America rolled her eyes at him. "Give yourself some credit. You're not _that_ much of a mess."

"Yes," he said. "I am."

"America," Noh broke in before America could get onto Logan any further. "We need to get back to the suite — we'll be leaving in a little while anyway, and I _do_ actually have to clean you up one more time."

America looked betrayed Noh's way for a moment, but she reluctantly allowed him to lead her off, leveling a finger Logan's way as she passed him. "I'll get you next time."

"See you in a few months, princess," Logan said, shaking his head at her before he went back to his coffee.

* * *

 _District Twelve_

* * *

When America got to District Twelve, she wasn't expecting the warm welcome that she got. She was positively surrounded by people who hadn't even known that she was _part_ of the district, hadn't cared about her in the least — and suddenly, they were all so _proud._

Twelve hadn't had a victor in years, not since Black Bolt was one of the early winners of the Games, and apparently, the way she had tried to take care of Billy had won over plenty of hearts. That hadn't been her plan, drawing attention to herself. She'd been trying to draw attention to Billy. It hadn't mattered what anyone thought about her when she was going to die anyway.

But in Twelve, the parties weren't anything like the ones in the Capitol. They were small. There was lots of dancing. The music was played live by people with old instruments that had been preserved past the war.

She didn't see any of the people she _actually_ wanted to see at the party, though she didn't blame them in the least. She didn't much feel like being around people, either, and it wasn't _her_ boyfriend, _her_ brother who had been killed.

But somehow, she got through the dancing all the same, and she was sure to dance with anyone who asked. They wanted to celebrate. That was fine. They were honestly happy about it, though she didn't know why. She didn't _know_ any of them. If it had been Kate last year, whose family actually had sway… or Cassie, whose stepfather was a Sentinel….

Billy's foster parents were there at the party. She could tell where they were by where the crowd had parted, where there was a heavy space.

And America was brave. She was. But she wasn't that brave.

She left the party early and let whoever still wanted to dance do just that. But she was done as soon as she saw how red Billy's mom's eyes were.

The house in the Victor's Village had already been prepared for her, so all she had to do was walk in. There wasn't too much to it, not really. A whole bunch of rooms that she had no idea what to do with. She'd give those to Tommy, Teddy, the others. They'd know what to do with them.

It was better than the shack that they were staying in now, anyway. At least _something_ could be done about _that_.

She wasn't surprised when she'd only made it a few steps inside before she spotted the first of them. Tommy was completely dead asleep on the couch, looking like he'd fallen asleep waiting up.

She was glad, though. He and Billy looked so exactly alike…. She wasn't sure she was ready to deal with him.

The rest of the boys were spread around the place. Teddy in the guest room on the top floor, Eli down the hall from the master bedroom, Nate on the main floor. It was late enough — the party had gone on long enough, and had started late with how far Twelve was from the Capitol — that every last one of them was asleep. And that actually suited her just fine.

It was the first time in four days that no one was really watching her, and America checked all the exits before she made her decision, nodded once, and ruffled Tommy's hair on her way out to the fence. She needed some time alone. To think. She'd come back to her boys eventually. When she was ready for it.

* * *

 **Notes: And with that, "The End of Childish Games" comes to an end. Look out for the next installment in this universe, "The Fall of a Titan," very shortly! After all, we have a revolution to run...**


End file.
